100 Ways You Can Love Your Husband HIS Way
by TB's LMC
Summary: They're partners, and a partnership is like a marriage, right? So why not explore what it takes to love your husband HIS way...Steve-and-Danny-style. Yes, there's cursing. Heavy bromance, no slash.
1. Ways 1 and 2

**Author's Note: **With sincerest apologies to Marriage Missions International, because I'm 100% certain this is NOT at all what they had in mind with their article "100 Ways You Can Love Your Husband HIS Way" found here: .com/100-ways-you-can-love-your-husband-his-way/ but I am just sick and twisted enough to use it for my own nefarious purposes. I will keep going on this until I've run through all 100 of them, so enjoy the ride!

**Summary: **They're partners, and a partnership is like a marriage, right? So why not explore what it takes to love your husband HIS way…Steve-and-Danny-style. Yes, there's cursing because if you know anything about cops and/or military men? …and I'm not CBS.

* * *

><p><strong>100 WAYS YOU CAN LOVE YOUR HUSBAND HIS WAY<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Way 1<br>**Respectfully communicate with him.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Do _not_ tell me how I feel."

"Well, you obviously don't _know_ how you feel. I'm trying to help."

"You are not helping. You are making me hate you even more."

"You don't hate me."

"You are infuriating."

*sigh*

"You are insane."

*huff*

"You have a death wish."

"I do not."

"I don't care. Because I hate you. And I will no longer follow you into seemingly innocent warehouses so I can get shrapnel lodged in my shins. I will also no longer leave the vehicle when you decide to go into a den of thieves all by yourself with one handgun and a couple pocketed grenades. Furthermore, I absolutely, positively, _refuse_ to move one inch from my car, which you never let me drive, until the entire complement of the Honolulu Police Department is sitting right here behind my very, very nice car…that you never let me drive."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I'm—I'm being…I'm being _what_ the…you, my friend, how many times have I offered you shrinks?"

"I don't need a shrink."

"Well, I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

"Fuck you, McGarrett."

*sigh*

"Where are you going?"

"Our suspect, Danny. He's in that house. That one, right there. With the black shutters and the pink siding."

"I told you already. No. Not going. Who the hell puts _pink_ _siding_ on a house?"

"Matches the pink flamingoes on the lawn."

"Do _not_ go up there, McGarrett."

"Come on, Danny, it's one guy in a house."

"Famous last words."

"Please?"

"Why…did you just say 'please?'"

"I did. I thought maybe if I asked nicely that my partner would come to the door to interrogate a harmless suspect with me."

"How many grenades you got on you?"

"Four. I doubled up since last time."

"Fine. Fine. Asshole. Because if I don't go, you'll go by yourself, and you'll wind up with a hole blown through your skull which _might_ be an improvement to your mental capacity, I must admit, and the paperwork from that will drown me and then I'll be out of a job, too, and…fuck it. I hate you so much right now."

"No, you don't."

* * *

><p><strong>Way 2<br>**Let him know he's important to you.

"You know, the last time you took me on a hike to a place that held a very special corner of your heart from early childhood years, you wound up with a broken arm."

Steve groaned. "Please, _God_, don't remind me."

"What makes you think this time will turn out differently? Trouble just _follows_ you, McGarrett."

"Hm," Steve said thoughtfully, stopping for a moment along the jungle path. "So I should start calling you Trouble, then?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Okay, you know, that is so not funny right now as I'm sweating through what's left of my soaked tee shirt and my socks are so damp that my feet are sliding along the insides of my shoes."

Steve grinned. "The clearing is only about half a mile ahead."

They continued walking.

"So what it is it again that's so damned important about this clearing?"

Steve's face took on a wistful look. Danny kind of liked that look, because it meant nobody was in imminent danger of dying for at least the next three-and-a-half minutes.

"This was where my dad taught me to shoot. No tourists come out here, and no locals. We had a bunch of targets and he taught me everything there was to know about taking care of the weapons and shooting them, and we did it out here where there were only birds to scare."

Danny was a little surprised, given that McGarrett didn't usually say that many words in a single day, let alone devoted to a single thought.

"I didn't bring my gun."

"Not the point, Danny. Ah, here it is."

"Then what _is_ the point?"

Steve shrugged as they entered the clearing. On the other side there still stood the well-constructed gigantic wooden sawhorses Steve and his father had made by hand, although whatever tattered target practice papers might've been left behind were long gone. Steve walked across the clearing and touched one of the sawhorses, then returned to where Danny was standing and crouched down. He eyed the long grass and suddenly began picking a few items up off the ground.

"What you got?" Danny asked, crouching down in front of Steve.

"Shell casings," Steve replied with a fond smile. "Here," he continued, holding out his hand upside-down.

Danny lifted his palm up to the bottom of Steve's hand and let Steve drop five different shell casings into it. "Nice array," Danny said, quickly determining what type of gun each bullet had come from. "Yours and your dad's, huh?"

"Has to be," Steve said. "Nobody else knows about this place."

"Well, here," Danny said, stretching his hand out toward Steve as they rose their full heights. "I'm sure you want to keep these for posterity."

Steve looked down, holding Danny's gaze for a few moments before turning his face back up to look at the sawhorses. "Naw," he finally said, voice quiet. "You keep 'em, Danno."

Danny looked at his partner strangely, then closed his hand around the casings and smiled.

Steve looked at him once more. "Ready to go?"

Danny nodded. And held those casings in his hand all the way back home.


	2. Ways 3 and 4

**Way 3**

Purposefully try to understand his feelings—even when you disagree with him.

"McGarrett, that makes about as much sense as a wild boar showing up to a luau thinking he's going to walk away unscathed."

The myriad of looks that cross Steve's face make Danny bite his lower lip to keep from snorting laughter.

"Once I figure that out, I'll come up with a suitable retort."

"You let me know."

Steve quirked an eyebrow at his partner, as the sound of his very own voice saying those words echoed back to him from what seemed like a lifetime ago, but in reality wasn't even a year.

Then more memories haunted him, running through his mind like someone had triggered a hidden tape recorder. He could _hear_ snatches of conversation, bits that were somehow purposely recorded so they could be played back at _just_ the right moment for _just_ the right reason, and Steve frowned at what he heard.

…_a term of endearment…_

…_do it every day, I like it…_

…_you, my friend, have a tone…_

…_I thought we were doing a thing…_

…_then I do _not_ know what I am doing here…_

…_triple banana, bitch…_

…_you're serious, and now you're shirtless…_

…_you miss me, don't you…_

Steve's breath hitched in his throat. How could he make Danny _see_? How could he make him understand? He chanced a look across Danny's desk, where his partner sat rigidly in his office chair, eyes turned upward to where Steve loomed over the desk. Eyes that were boring holes into his. Steve didn't know what to say. In fact, he felt a mild case of panic and cursed himself for the utter stupidity of it.

"I just don't think you need to be as concerned about my health and safety as you consistently choose to be," Steve finally said, in awe of himself that he'd been able to keep his voice that even. "And I know you think I'm insane, and from your point-of-view, I understand that. But I'm not. I'm military, and from an elite, highly-trained force, and you need to remember that instead of treating me like a first year cadet out of the Weehawken PD!"

Well. So much for an even cadence, judging by the way his final words were delivered up in the high-octave and high-decibel range, his fists were clenched at his sides and his teeth were grinding mercilessly against each other.

Danny rose to his full height. Never would put them eye-to-eye, of course, but at the very least he wasn't two feet shorter this way like he had been sitting down. "That's why you think I bitch at you? Because I think you have the skills of a first year cadet?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't know!" Steve huffed, trying to pace, but unable to in the confines of the Five-O office. "But that's how you make me feel, and I've worked too hard to be made to feel that way, okay?"

Danny regarded his partner for a moment. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, let his eyes drop to the desk, and stood there contemplatively for a good forty-five seconds before he returned his gaze to Steve's face.

"Okay," Danny breathed. "Okay, I get it. I get it. I don't _give_ you shit to make you _feel_ like shit, okay?"

Steve let out a shaky breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I know you don't, I know. I just…yeah, never mind, okay? It's all good."

"Only if you really understand _why_ I give you so much grief," Danny said, stepping out from behind his desk, inches from invading McGarrett's personal space.

Steve held Danny's eyes and then nodded just once.

"I know you're not helpless," Danny continued. "But I think I have good reason to worry."

Steve's mouth quirked into a grin. "I don't agree with you there, partner," he said. "But I understand."

"That is good," Danny said, shoulders sagging in relief. "Now, can we please get out of here and get to your place and the two six-packs I know are in your fridge before someone calls and gives us a case?"

Steve smiled as yet another piece of recorded conversation played through his mind.

…_tell me about it...I picked _you_, didn't I…_

_Yeah_, Steve thought. _Yeah, I did._

* * *

><p><strong>Way 4<strong>

Show interest in his friends giving him some time with them if they're trust-worthy.

Steve felt ridiculous. Even worse, he felt stupid. And worse yet, he felt like he was in high school again. He wasn't jealous. Not really. Not like Danny had been over Nick Taylor's sudden appearance on the scene. But Steve knew his emotions, regardless of how stunted others thought him to be, and he recognized that what he was feeling wasn't at all jealousy. What he was feeling, was fear.

Because of the fact that someone Steve had worked with so closely, in life-or-death situations; someone he'd trusted implicitly with his own life and the lives of others; someone he considered a good friend…because Nick Taylor had betrayed Steve's trust in him, he couldn't help but wonder if Kevin Anderson would do the same thing to Danny.

Thing was, Steve knew that Kevin and Danny had known each other since they were toddlers. They'd grown up next door neighbors. They'd gone through every grade together. They'd become cops together. They'd kept in touch by phone and by letters (turned out Kevin wasn't into computers and email any more than Danny, and that made Steve smile a little) ever since Danny had moved to Hawaii.

And now Kevin was here, and Danny was just as happy to see Kevin as Steve had been to see Nick. Danny had asked for a few days off so he could show Kevin Oahu and maybe even some of Maui. Steve had agreed, because when did Danny ever want time off? But he found himself now, at eight o'clock at night, sitting in his parked truck in the corner of parking lot of some seafood place Danny and Kevin had gone for dinner.

He felt ridiculous. He felt stupid. And he felt like he was _grade_ school again, never mind high school.

When Danny and Kevin emerged from the restaurant, they were laughing so hard Steve saw Danny wipe tear tracks from his face. Kevin clapped him on the back and the two continued to the Camaro, where Steve was gratified to see Danny did _not_ toss Kevin the keys. At least Kevin didn't drive Danny's car. Only Steve was allowed _that_ privilege, and he knew it.

And wow, that sounded like jealousy. Yep. Ridiculous. Stupid. Jesus H.

Steve took a deep breath. Kevin seemed harmless enough, and you _know_ Steve did such a thorough background check on the guy that he knew every intimate detail of how he'd spent his entire life since shooting out of the womb. And Danny, he was a good judge of character, right? And he'd be fine the next couple of days without Steve plastered to his side or stalking him like some crazed ex-lover…which he wasn't, and probably never would be, all things considered.

So Steve waited until the Camaro had sped away into the night. Then he started his truck's engine and forced himself to drive home. The last thing Danny needed was for Steve to display his natural instinct to preserve those he cared about in front of a lifelong friend. Kevin wasn't going to try to murder Danny on a beach. Kevin was normal; Kevin was not a trained killing machine like Nick had been.

Right. Danny would be fine, Steve would see him Thursday after Danny dropped Kevin off at the airport. Kevin was trustworthy. Steve just had to believe that not everyone in Danny's life was like nearly everyone in Steve's, and leave it at that.

Just as he turned into his driveway, his iPhone binged, telling him he had a text message. He saw it was from Danny, and opened it. His body froze and his jaw dropped, and he knew he'd be getting an earful on Thursday, but couldn't seem to bring himself to mind. Because Danny's text message read:

'He's not Nick.'

How the hell was it that his partner knew him so well?


	3. Ways 5 and 6

**Way 5**

Let go of the small stuff. We all have annoying habits and preferences that are different from our spouse's.

"All right. What's the matter with you?"

Steve blinks, looking across the patio table at his partner. "What are you talking about?"

"You have not insulted my chosen method for adorning myself in professional attire for ten whole days now."

"I haven't…you're throwing words at each other again and hoping they'll stick, aren't you."

"I'm throw—no, I'm not throwing words at each other! Stop trying to get me off track. You have _not_, in the past ten days, and maybe you'll understand this better, made any cracks about my tie, my patent leather loafers or my appearance in general. Ten days, Steven. _Ten!_"

Steve shrugs. "Yeah. And?"

Danny's eyebrows go up. "And?" he repeats, then takes a swig of his beer. "And," he says again, only this time continues, "that means something's very wrong. You're plotting my demise, aren't you? You're being nice to me because you and probably Kono are going to end me some time soon. Am I right?"

"You," Steve says, after taking a particularly long pull of his Longboard, "have a persecution complex the likes of which I haven't seen since my Naval Intelligence days. Not to mention you're paranoid!"

"Do not even get me started on the fact that our United States government allowed _you_ to work in something with the word 'intelligence' in the title."

Steve laughed out loud.

"Seriously, though. Why have you stopped busting my ass on how I dress?"

Steve's laugh faded into a fond smile. "Just let it go, Danno. After two years, _I_ have."

Danny looked exasperated for a moment, then he looked thoughtful, and finally he grinned. "You're not being quite truthful there."

"I'm not?"

"No. The truth that you'll never admit to, is you've grown to _like_ how I dress."

Steve gave him A Look. "I will _never_, in a hundred million years, _like_ how you dress." Before Danny could speak, he added, "I just appreciate that you have some very annoying habits and preferences that are different from mine, and it's not enough to get worked up over."

"Who are you and what have you done with my partner?"

"I'm right here, Danny. Like I said, just let it go."

Danny considered that for several long minutes, then finished off his beer. He excused himself to use the bathroom inside the house, a mischievous smile on his face that he just couldn't hide.

When, ten minutes later, Danny came back out onto the lanai dressed in a pair of Steve's shorts, legs and feet bare, and a sleeveless tee shirt also belonging to his boss, he noted with great satisfaction the look of utter shock on his partner's face.

As he walked past him to head for the water's edge, Danny grinned so hard he thought his face might split in two, and said, "Let it go, Steve. Just let it go."

* * *

><p><strong>Way 6<strong>

Tell him you both love him AND like him.

"Duuude," Steve said, suppressing the half-cough, half-hiccup he couldn't help but let through anyway. He'd just opened the door to find Danny way too sober, standing there with a six-pack.

Danny shook his head as he looked up at Steve's face. "I'm going to have to have a word with Chin and Kono, letting you get shitfaced before sundown."

"You brought meeee beer!" Steve slurred, wrapping an arm around his partner's shoulders and dragging him inside. "Of coursssse I'm shitfaced, it'ssss my first birthday parth-ee, no, wait…parteee!"

Danny laughed. He'd been with Grace this weekend, spending his birthday with her. Tonight was the celebration for his and Steve's one-day-apart birthdays, courtesy of their 5-0 _ohana_. As soon as Danny had dropped Grace back at Rachel's, he'd stopped at the corner store for a six-pack, fully expecting to get here and find his team members more than just a little tipsy.

Come to think of it…

"Where are Kono and Chin?"

Steve thought about that for a few seconds longer than Danny thought was necessary. Then Steve brightened, holding a finger up in the air. "They passed out about," *hiccup* "maybe, like…I dunnno, a few minutesss ago?"

"Oh, fantastic. So because you can hold five times your weight in liquor, and I had to be late to my own party, my celebration is going to consist of being mauled by an overgrown Boy Scout who's drunk off his ass."

"I never had a birthhhday party befooore, Dannnnnoo!"

"I know, I know," Danny replied, grinning as he moved toward the kitchen, Steve plastered to him vis-à-vis his shoulders still. "I remember the conversation, you haven't had a party since you were a kid."

"Kono's _grandma_ made us a _cake_!"

Intrigued, Danny turned to look at the table in Steve's kitchen and laughed heartily at what he saw. The frosting was white coconut. Written neatly atop it on one side was Happy Birthday in English. On the other, he guessed it was the same thing in Hawaiian. But what took the cake – so to speak – was the two little action figure-type men standing underneath the words.

The one under the English side was short, blonde and wearing an icing candy tie. He was holding a tiny icing candy gun that was pointing straight ahead of him at the other action figure, standing under the Hawaiian side. That one was taller, dark-haired and wearing green camo, pointing his own gun across the way. Danny just knew Kono had had something to do with this particular decoration.

And he couldn't stop laughing. Steve joined in. It was the funniest damn thing Danny had ever seen, barring his partner right now, who was leaning more and more heavily on him as whatever liquor he'd already consumed started bringing him down from goofily happy to a little bit more sedate.

Shaking his head, Danny remembered the moment displayed on the cake well. "I really hated you that day," he said quietly, and all of a sudden Steve stopped laughing.

"Yeahh," Steve said. "I know, but…you, ummmm…you like me now, don't you, Dannnno?"

Danny looked up and found Steve's and his noses were almost touching. He inched his face back because Christ, it was tequila McGarrett had been drinking and the smell of his breath was atrocious.

"Yeah, yeah, you big lug, I like you now."

"Goood," Steve said, face brightening up even more than it had the day Danny had told him to call him Danno every day. "That'sss good, Danny, because," and here, Steve leaned his tequila-breath-laden mouth right into Danny's ear, "'cause I reallllly love you, man."

Danny rolled his eyes. It took him about five minutes to extricate himself from the sudden octopus-like hug Steve had him in, but when he finally did he suggested Steve go sit on the couch and make fun of old cop movies on AMC for a bit while he check on Kono and Chin and make sure there was nothing involving alcohol poisoning or dangerous weapons happening out on the beach.

When he returned from finding they were just snoring soundly – and yes, he'd recorded it on his cell phone for blackmail purposes – he just had to stop and look at the cake again. He chuckled, snapped a couple pictures of it with his phone, and headed back into the living room, hoping like hell his partner was over and done with the I'm-way-too-drunk mushy stuff.

When he walked in, he had to stop dead in his tracks. Because Steve was half-laying on the couch with Danny's tie wrapped around his fist and when the _hell_ had McGarrett pick-pocketed that out of the back of Danny's dress pants, anyway? He shook his head, moved forward and pulled Steve's legs out so they were straight along the couch. Then he arranged his head so it was actually near the armrest rather than halfway up the back cushion, and finished by taking Steve's boots off and setting them on the floor.

"Yeah, yeah," Danny whispered, deciding he was going to have a piece of his birthday cake even if no one else was currently up to the challenge. "I love you too, you big moron." He went and got the cake and came back, leaning against the arm of the couch closest to Steve's feet.

Steve snorted and rolled to his side. Danny's tie unwound itself from his hand and slithered quietly to the floor. He picked it up and stuffed it back into his pocket. Then he moved his hand to his front pocket and took something out of it. Danny finished off the last couple bites of his cake, then took the item he'd pulled from his pocket it and hung it on Steve's thumb. Then he took a picture. Or five.

He chuckled, went and tossed his paper plate and plastic fork into the kitchen trash, put the six-pack of beer he'd brought into the fridge, and headed for the front door, keys in hand. Just wait 'til Steve woke up in the morning not only with the mother of all hangovers, but with a New Jersey keychain attached to his person. A keychain that had recorded their entire conversation.

"Happy Birthday to me," Danny sang with a grin, and then whistled the rest of the song all the way out to his car.


	4. Ways 7 and 8

**Way 7**

Either show interest in his hobbies or allow him space to participate freely.

"Steven, I will not go on a five-mile swim with you. But you go ahead."

"I can't leave you here for an hour while I swim. That's inhospitable."

"You choose now to develop manners? Listen, I need to go for a run anyway. You swim, I'll run. Or, you know, you could come for a run with me instead of swimming."

"No. Gotta swim."

"And I gotta run."

"Fine. One hour, then I fire up the grill."

"Sounds good, McGarrett."

Steve grins and heads into the water. Danny watches him for a moment, part of him wishing he could swim for five miles without a spare thought. But it would only humiliate him, because him and water haven't ever really mixed that well, and all that'd happen is Steve would wind up towing his exhausted ass back to shore.

But running, now that's where Danny excels, and so the fish has to swim and the land mammal has to run (or more like flying, as fast as Danny goes), and that's how they are, really. _Good analogy_, his brain supplies, and then a book comes to mind, a book his mother read to him long ago when he came down with chicken pox and was relegated to his room.

It was a more realistic kind of fairy tale, the novel adaptation of the movie _Ever After_, and something his mother loved so much, she insisted on reading it to him. Even though it gave his sisters a reason to bust his ass for, like, the entirety of his freshman year in high school.

But now, watching as Steve dives beneath the water's surface, tying up his own shoelaces and stretching out his legs and arms and back in preparation for a good run, that book comes back to him, along with his mother's additional insights.

"_A fish may love a bird, signore, but where will they live?"_

"_I don't get it, Ma. They're both people."_

Even back then, Danny had been far too literal for his own good.

"_Yes, but they're very different people, Daniel. Like your father and I, for instance. He's Jewish, I'm Catholic. And Italian. I mean, what a combination, and yet we have all you kids and are still married."_

"_Yeah, okay, Ma, okay. A fish may love a bird."_

_His mother nodded, her eyes going back to the book. "A fish may love a bird, signore, but where will they live?" To which Da Vinci replied, "Then I shall have to make you wings."_

Danny allows himself to smile at the remembrance of how right after that line, he'd started scratching his skin to a bloody pulp as the chicken pox kicked into overdrive, wound up soaking in a bathtub of Epsom salts and listening to a lecture from his old Jewish grandmother about listening to your mother when she tells you not to scratch.

Yeah, Steve and Danny were as different as Danielle and Henry from that book and movie. Or as different as his own parents. Hell, they were nearly polar opposites in some respects, and yet somehow, as with the other pairs, something singular had brought them together and _kept_ them together, even after eight years on Five-0 and more ups and downs than your average Six Flags roller coaster.

Danny grins, running in place for a few beats before winding around the side of the house and down the driveway toward the street. He doesn't like to swim for exercise. Steve likes to run sometimes, but given the choice will always choose the water. So they each do their own thing, but in the end always came back together, whether out in the field or when it comes to off-time.

Sometimes, you just have to let your best friend do his own thing.

As long as it doesn't involve grenades…

* * *

><p><strong>Way 8<strong>

Protect his dignity on a daily basis.

Danny wiped the sweat from his brow. He gingerly felt along his hipbone with his fingertips, hissing when he hit a spot that was way too tender to just be bruised. "Dammit," he groused as Steve's head popped into view across a few hundred oil barrels destined for a huge freighter.

"You okay there, Danno?"

"Peachy!" Danny replied, rising to his feet with no small amount of discomfort from not only his left hip, but his butt, too. Okay, that didn't bode well. With his luck he had shrapnel stuck in his ass and maybe even his spine, and wouldn't be able to shit for a week or walk ever again.

Steve would use it to torture him mercilessly, so Danny did what he could to hide his backside against nearby barrels as his partner approached.

"Did you leave any alive?" Steve asked.

"Of the five who were after me, while twenty went after you because clearly they figured your insanity was the safest bet for their sorry asses," and here, Danny made a face to himself when he thought of his tender ass, "nobody's alive."

"Mine either."

"Bazooka?"

"Do I look like I have a bazooka?"

"Rocket launcher, then."

"Did you take a blow to the head, Danny?"

"No, dammit, all right? No blow to the head. Just a blow to my ass."

"To your…"

Okay, that wasn't Aneurism Face. Maybe that was…huh. Danny couldn't categorize that one. "What's the face?"

"To your ass."

"Yes, Steven, my _ass_, okay? See? Here? Look. I will swallow my pride since I happen to know this is a very fine ass indeed, and show you that I definitely took a blow to my ass because my ass _hurts_, okay? Christ!"

With that, Danny turned around so his back was to his partner. Steve gave a strangled sound. Danny rolled his eyes.

"Other than the fact that your pants _and_ underwear are ripped, Danno, I think you're pretty much okay."

"What? No shrapnel?" Danny asked, hand moving back to cup his own cheek. "Then what's this raw-feeling spot—" Danny's face chose that moment to turn red as a beet, or maybe even a beet mixed with a cherry and some strawberries added for good measure.

"You, uh…forget about something you did in a drunken haze this past weekend, Danno?"

"Do _not_ 'Danno' me right now, Steven. I am going to leave, go home and get some unripped clothes on so that neither you nor Kono nor Chin nor any member of HPD will be able to taunt me further for my exploits."

"Well, the bandage got ripped off," Steve said, and his voice sounded mighty funny still, so Danny narrowed his eyes, "but I think you might want to get that checked out so it doesn't become infected from having it, uh…_exposed_."

"All right, that's it. Shut up, you who have more ink on your body than every papyrus ever written on in Ancient Egypt."

"Hey, I didn't say anything. I might even like it if I could see what it actually is."

"It's a tattoo, Steven. Something with which you are intimately familiar."

"Not the one on your ass, I'm not."

"And we're going to keep it that way."

"You are seriously no fun."

"Nope. Now come on."

"Uh…Danny. Danny? _Danny_!"

"_What_?" Danny asked, stopping in mid-stomp. He looked longingly at his Camaro parked at the other end of the long dock, and took note of the dozen HPD officers headed their way.

"You may not want to walk to the car like that."

"Like wha—oh. Shit."

"Want my shirt?"

"For what?"

"To tie around your ass!"

"Oh, that'd look really good, Steve. Me with your shirt tied around my waist like a skirt and you with all _your_ tattoos hanging out in the breeze for everyone to ogle. As if their tongues don't already wag enough."

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Sure you are. No, no shirt off your back. Must be another way."

Steve slid up behind Danny so that his entire front was against his partner's entire back.

"You stay where you are, you'll be as short as me in about ten seconds flat," Danny growled.

Steve laughed out loud. "Take your pick, Danno, HPD's almost on us. You want Duke catching a glimpse of that ink covering a quarter of your left ass cheek or what?"

"Given the choice between you and your shirt, I choose neither. I'll just use my own shirt."

"And bare your chest?" Steve asked incredulously, leaning his face down alongside Danny's so he could try to check out his eyes. "Did you get a concussion?"

"You seriously need to stop right now," Danny said menacingly. "This is why I do not tell you every little detail of my life, because you have no goddamn boundaries, McGarrett!"

Duke chose that moment to approach with four other officers, none of whom seemed to bat an eye over the fact that Steve was plastered to his partner's back, his right arm hooked around Danny's shoulders and hanging loosely along his pecs.

"Is there anyone left to process?"

"Just their remains," Danny said, tossing his head and a thumb directionally back behind himself and Steve.

Duke sighed. "You two have more killings under your belt than the most prolific serial killers on record," he said with a shake of his head.

"Hear that, Danno? We're serial killers," Steve proclaimed as Duke and the officers headed off to check bodies.

"Yes, and you're still glued to my ass."

"Where I'll stay until we've reached the Camaro."

"You are an idiot."

"And you have a tattoo."

"This is going to become your new thing now, isn't it? Finding out what my tattoo is?"

"Yep," Steve said, putting his hands on Danny's hips and pushing him forward in a way that made it clear Danny had better start walking or Steve would simply carry him there. "But nobody else gets to see. Just me."

"You. Are. Sick. And twisted. Why would I let you see it?" Danny groused, strides somehow matching Steve's even though their legs were mismatched in length.

"Because I'm your inspiration for getting it."

"The world does not begin and end with you, McGarrett."

"But you owe me."

"For what? Nearly getting my hip dislocated and my ass shot off today?"

"No," Steve said as they got to the Camaro without too much more than a few stares, shakes of heads and minor whispering amongst the HPD officers attending the scene. "For rescuing your dignity, because really, Danny? Tattoo or no, I mean…magenta boxer briefs?"

"I hate you," Danny said, twisting away from Steve's fierce grip and throwing the passenger door of his car open. "Just for that, you will _not_ be seeing my tattoo."

"But Danny!" Steve pouted beautifully. In fact, Danny thought, that look put Grace's pouty face to serious shame.

"No buts."

"No butts ever?"

Danny rolled his eyes and slammed the door shut on his partner.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Here's the design for the tattoo I think Danny got on his butt for this story - you need to interpret this because ff won't let me actually type the URL: double-u double-u double-u dot projectcopywriter dot com forward-slash imthebackup dot png.


	5. Ways 9 and 10

**Way 9**

Be tender with him realizing he has feelings also.

We don't think about stuff like that.

Well, not much, anyway.

He's a lot better at it than I am, though. I guess maybe when you have a child you start thinking about stuff like how you feel, even if you're a guy. Christ, Danny's whole entire life since Grace was born has revolved around how he feels about her, and he never really makes any bones over how he feels about anything.

So when push comes to shove yeah, I'm emotionally stunted compared to him. But I think he's wearing me down little by little, because here I am, sitting next to his hospital bed nearly three years after I pointed my gun at him in my garage, and I'm thinking about feelings.

I think the dam started cracking when Mary Ann was kidnapped. Danny saw me through that, make no mistake, and I know it.

And maybe a little bit when Matt turned out to be who and what he turned out to be. I'm not _that_ emotionally stunted, I mean, I can recognize pain in someone's eyes, even if it's not from busted ribs or a gunshot wound. I saw a lot of pain in Danny's eyes after that, and tried to give him as many reasons to get out of the funk as I could.

Once he got back to his standard rants over my reckless behavior, things were good. I guess I've learned how to push his buttons when he needs them pushed.

But now this. Now I'm sitting here with my TAC vest hanging on the back of the chair, still with mud on my arms, my face, all over my clothes. I'm surprised they let me in here. Usually they're all about, risk of infection and, only ten minutes with the patient, please.

But I guess that's because they don't expect my partner to make it this time.

Without Danny's consistent browbeating over what I'd done wrong this time and how dangerous I am for his continued existence, as he puts it, I'm left with nothing to do but think about my feelings. I don't feel guilty for anything more than not being right next to him when his car was T-boned on his way to pick Grace up from school. I know above all else, he'd be really happy it was _before_ he'd picked her up rather than _after_. So now, yeah, I'm thinking about feelings. Kind of sucks, but it's kind of cathartic, too.

We don't think about stuff like that. But maybe we should.

Deciding that much, I promise myself…and Danny…right then and there, as the monitors insist he's still alive under all those tubes and wires and all that gauze and casting and beneath all those stitches and that drying blood…I promise myself that I _will_ think about stuff like that more. And promise Danny that I'll talk about it more…if for no other reason than to stop him having to spend a day making himself hoarse trying to fill up the gaps I've always refused to.

And maybe, just maybe, if he pulls through this and starts being Jersey again, I won't give him quite as much shit about how he dresses or throws words together trying to make them stick, or drops malasada crumbs everywhere when he stuffs them into his mouth. That's about as tender as I can be with the fireworks display that is my partner, truth be told.

Because really, we don't think about stuff like that.

Too much.

Until, that is, we almost lose the thing that makes us feel the way we don't think about. I lay my filthy, dirty hand over his, and when I feel him twitch, I smile. So…maybe I can be tender when no one's looking.

And I just won't think about it anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 10<strong>

Foster an atmosphere of laughter in your home. Look for ways to laugh together.

Steve looked across the room at Danny. Danny looked across the room at Steve. They burst out laughing simultaneously, Danny doubling over, face reddening, as Steve threw his head back and clutched his stomach.

Neither one of them thought there was anything funnier than Steve finding out, at the end of a long day of questioning suspects, that he'd been walking around with _My Little Pony_ glitter stickers stuck to the back of his cargo pants.

All because, of course, Grace had come to the team barbecue on Sunday, and left alone with the clean laundry sitting next to her on the kitchen table for about ten minutes while Danny was chopping veggies for salad.

And if Steve knew about the stickers before he put the pants on this morning, well…Danny never needed to know that.

* * *

><p>The comedian was only halfway through his routine, but both men seated on the couch in McGarrett's living room were already laughing so hard at the Showtime special they had tears streaming down their cheeks.<p>

Steve didn't think his abs had hurt this much since Hell Week. Danny wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to breathe properly again. The next line out of the comedian's mouth, delivered in the best Jersey accent to hit Hawaii's soundwaves since Danny'd moved there two years earlier, had Steve practically falling over the edge of the couch, trying desperately to pant out between guffaws how much like Danny the guy sounded.

For his part, Danny wondered if everyone in Hawaii found him as funny as he and Steve were finding the comedian. And he wondered how the hell Steve had managed to find this one guy Danny used to watch in the dingy comedy clubs in Newark way before he ever became famous.

And if Steve had purposely installed satellite television, paid for every channel they offered, and searched until he found just that taste of Jersey he knew his partner would appreciate, well…Danny never needed to know that.

* * *

><p>Danny was just going to die. He knew it. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name, Daniel Williams, thankyouverymuch. Because, because, because it was just too damn funny for words, and he was…as soon as he could stand upright instead of rolling on the floor laughing his ass off…he was going to whip out his phone and take pictures of this.<p>

Yeah, as soon as he could stop laughing. He'd do that. He would.

Because, yes, because his eleven year-old daughter had just spent the morning "doing" Steve's hair, and "painting" Steve's nails, and "dressing" Steve in the prettiest princess jewelry she had, and "applied" all manner of blush, eye shadow and God forbid even _lipstick_…and _Christ_, Steve had just _sat_ there and let her do, paint, dress and apply, and once he'd gotten over the shock of the fact that his partner had acquiesced to the little girl's demands to make him over, Danny had dissolved into fits of hysterical…no, they were _not_ giggles, men, we do _not_ giggle, thankyouverymuch…laughter in the middle of the living room floor.

To his credit, Steve held his poise…and the fake diamond tiara perched on his head…very gracefully indeed. Danny thought that made it even funnier, though, and once Grace joined him in his mirth, it was all Danny could do to keep from hyperventilating right there on the spot as they giggled-_laughed_-while Steve stood at parade rest like he looked more normal than they did at the moment.

And if secretly, deep down inside, Steve was laughing right along with them because he always knew how to make Danny laugh no matter what, well…Danny never needed to know that, either.

And Steve? Would always be looking for ways to make his house fill with Williams laughter. Even if it involved a pink tutu.


	6. Ways 11 and 12

**Way 11**

Try not to make sudden major changes without discussion, giving him time to adjust.

Steve's eyes grew wide. His jaw dropped. He couldn't even move from where he was currently leaning back against the computer table in Five-0's bullpen. He knew he looked like a complete imbecile in the moment, but couldn't bring himself to change the look on his face no matter how much he hoped to before—

"Steve?"

He managed to snap his mouth shut, at least.

"What's the matter with you?"

But still he couldn't blink.

Because there stood his partner…wardrobe-uptight, by-the-book Danno, on a Monday morning, with…without…with…

"Yo! Steve!" Danny snapped his fingers in front of Steve's face.

"I think," came Chin's voice from somewhere behind Steve's gobsmacked self, "that he's a little surprised."

"Ah," Danny said, concern changing so quickly into a smirk it was a wonder, Steve thought, that Danny's face hadn't given itself whiplash. "Well, get yourself un-surprised, partner, we've got an undercover op to run."

_Oh_. Steve finally blinked. _Right_. They were going to pose as surfers on the beach today, to try and gather intel on a local who might've been fronting for a branch of the Triads rumored to be in Oahu now.

It was an op.

It was _not_ Danny having decided to start looking like a Hawaiian at last, only taking it to a level even Steve and Kono wouldn't. And as much as that fact should've bothered Steve, he realized he wasn't _quite_ ready to see his partner come to work every day dressed like…that.

As the two men headed for the Camaro, Kono narrowed her eyes at their retreating forms, then turned to her cousin. "Danny did that on purpose."

"What makes you say that?" Chin asked, face showing complete innocence and lack of understanding.

"He could've just kept a tee shirt on or something to walk in here and get the boss," Kono said pointedly. "To come in here in nothing but a pair of swim trunks?"

"You mean, the ones that suspiciously resemble Steve's blue ones?"

"He didn't!"

"No!" Chin laughed. "I told him where Steve got them. Something about the color matching his eyes."

"So he _did_ do that on purpose."

"Yep," Chin replied, pulling up the partners' GPS locations so they could keep tabs on them throughout the day.

"Why?"

Chin looked her in the eye. "I know better than to ask." Kono opened her mouth to speak, but Chin cut her off. "And so should you."

"I feel the need to catch a wave," Kono said petulantly.

"Oh, no you don't," her cousin said with a chuckle. "Once Steve gets over the shock of seeing Danny in those trunks, which will take a while, I imagine, he'll have to deal with the other thing that he doesn't know about Danny."

"Which is?"

"That _you_," Chin said with a proud grin, "taught Danny how to surf."

"Yeah," Kono laughed. "If his brain shorted out over the trunks, Steve is seriously not ready for Danny on a board."

Her eyes widened. Chin caught her look and the smile disappeared from his face.

Quick as lightning, the cousins raced out of the bullpen, Kono calling out, "I'll drive!" as they went.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 12<strong>

When you go out on a date together don't bring up problems—have fun instead.

"Stop right there."

"But I—"

"No."

"Danno, I just wanted to—"

"I _know_ what you wanted to."

"So why not let me? What the hell's the big deal?"

Danny leaned back in the booth and narrowed his eyes at his partner. "Social miscreant, swear to God," he breathed. Then he leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together just under his chin. "Steven."

Steve looked highly amused as he mirrored Danny's position so their eyes and noses were mere inches apart. "Daniel."

Danny rolled his eyes. "When I was in my early twenties, my Aunt Lori, she explained something to me. I am now going to attempt…and while I understand that said attempt may be futile at best I am nothing if not one to try, try again…to explain to you very slowly and very carefully in the hopes at least every other word will slap up against the wall sitting in front of the part of your brain that houses mammal-to-mammal interaction."

Eyes already glazed over, Steve couldn't do much more than nod, which Danny took as him being ready to listen.

"Aunt Lori's pearl of wisdom was this: when you're out on a date with someone, you do _not_, and I repeat **do not** talk about problems. Period. You talk about nice things, things that make you happy, make you laugh. Because otherwise the date goes south in ten seconds flat, both parties are miserable, and you'll never see that person again."

Steve looked thoughtful for a good minute before he finally spoke, eyes boring holes into his partner's. "So you're either trying to tell me that you won't let me talk about what happened at the Konalee house today after our suspect got away because it's depressing, or you're trying to tell me we're on a date."

Danny felt the flush rise up his neck into his face and narrowed his eyes. "We, Steven, are _not_ on a date!" he spluttered, backing away as far as he could and scowling dangerously. "God, you are such an idiot sometimes."

Steve leaned back looking rather pleased with himself. "Gotcha," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"I hate you just as much as I did that first day," Danny groused, folding his arms over his chest. "Even more than when you got me shot."

"Now, Danno, we're not talking about our problems, remember what Aunt Lori said."

For once, Danny had to eat his own words. He just hoped the inability to rant wouldn't give him the aneurism he'd always suspected would come while in the presence of one Steve McGarrett.

But when Steve grinned at him, open and happy and just plain silly, Danny found himself chuckling in return.

Aunt Lori indeed.


	7. Ways 13 and 14

**Way 13**

Focus on what he's doing right, instead of focusing so often on the negatives.

"Nice roundhouse kick."

Steve whipped around like someone had just given him a wedgie. He blinked at his partner for a few seconds before saying, "Thanks?"

Danny's face was inscrutable. Steve frowned a bit, but then said his typical, "Book 'em, Danno."

Nodding and letting a small grin grace his features, Danny hauled the suspect to his feet and started reading him his rights.

Steve shrugged it off.

* * *

><p>"You managed to get through two fences <em>and<em> a plate glass window and look at that," Danny said, gesturing to his car, "not a single scratch." He looked across the hood at Steve. "Pretty impressive."

Steve frowned. "You think?"

"I do, on occasion," Danny replied with a smirk.

Steve laughed out loud. It wasn't until after Danny had dropped him off at home that night, and headed for his own apartment, that Steve remembered the compliment at all. The little line that always appeared between his eyebrows when he was in the midst of a puzzling problem stayed in place the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>"You know, you missed your calling, Babe. You ought to have been a stuntman in Hollywood."<p>

Steve turned to look at his partner, certain he was sporting a face Danny had already named and categorized.

"The flying leap you took off that shipping container and not a bone broken in the process. Not everyone can do that."

Still delivered with a deadpan face, and it was starting get under Steve's skin a little. That was what…three compliments in one week? About things that Danny _normally_ gave him utter _shit_ for? Really?

What was up with that?

* * *

><p>"You know, I'm no expert on diving," Danny said, looking thoughtfully at the water, then up to the roof Steve had jumped from, then back to his partner, "but I'd say that one you took off the building qualifies for the Olympics."<p>

Steve stood there dripping wet all over the pavement, his cargo pants way too heavy now and clinging to every line and curve from the waist on down. He looked at Danny, the little line now having taken up permanent residence between his eyebrows.

"Did you just compliment a dive I took off the roof of a three-story building into water I didn't know the depth of to go after the drug dealer I just handed off to Chin?"

"I believe so, Lieutenant Commander," Danny said with a nod and a smile. "Although I must say I'm disappointed you told Chin to book 'em."

Steve stared after him as he moved toward the ten HPD cruisers that had (as usual) come too late to actually deliver anything more than a cleanup crew to the scene.

Narrowing his eyes, Steve resolved to get to the bottom of things, because this was…and it was…and Danny wasn't…and it couldn't…and Danny was…and Steve wouldn't…it just _sucked_, okay?

* * *

><p>"So you just made that little leap of logic there all by yourself, huh?"<p>

Steve frowned just a bit more, adding lines to his forehead that stood perpendicular to the newly permanent one between his eyebrows. "Yes."

"No prior intel from classified missions in Bumfuck, Africa?"

"Danny, there's no such place as Bumfuck, Africa," Steve said with half-grin, half-smirk.

"Good to know. And good deducing. You might make a decent detective yet."

Steve flinched. There wasn't even the slightest _hint_ of sarcasm in that voice or nestled into the lines surrounding Danny's eyes. And…_and_…his partner was _smiling_ as he said it.

"All right, that's it!" Steve bellowed, slapping the folders in his hand down onto the large computer table. Chin jumped and Kono nearly choked on the swig she was taking from her bottle of water, but Steve didn't even notice. He was too busy glaring at Danny.

Who was just looking at him like he thought Steve had finally lost what little was left of his mind. It was a very real possibility, after all.

"What the _hell_ is going on with you?" he asked, making sure to get as far into Danny's personal space as was possible without actually touching him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Danny said. Perfectly calmly. Perfectly rationally. Not a trace of anything but Zen on his face.

"Are you on medication or something?"

"What?" Danny replied, eyebrows shooting upward. "Medication for what?"

"You," Steve said, and dammit, he was pissed, "have been complimenting me left, right and center _all week long_!"

Danny looked confused. "Yes, I am aware that I've been doing that."

Steve began to pace from one end of the bullpen to the other and back. "You've been complimenting me on things that _normally_ you would verbally kick my ass from here to Jersey and back again about!"

Nodding, Danny gave him a small smile. "I'm aware of that, too."

Stopping in mid-pacing step, Steve whirled on his partner and jabbed a finger at him. He felt a thrill go right through him when Danny's face registered shock and his eyes flashed anger. "I want to know _why_," Steve growled, face a lot closer to Danny's than it needed to be.

"Get that finger out of my chest," Danny said, still calmly and quietly, but venomously.

"Not until you," Steve said, finger grazing the cotton of Danny's button-down, "tell me what the _hell_ is going on."

Danny batted Steve's hand away. "I'm trying to learn Chin's Zen."

"You—you're _what_?"

"Chin, nice Hawaiian guy on the other side of the computer table there, that Chin," Danny said, hands flailing in Chin's and the rest of the bullpen's general direction. "I'm trying to lower my blood pressure so my daughter doesn't constantly tell me I'm going to have the aneurism I'm completely convinced you're going to give me, and since _you_ are the one destined to make me die an early death, the suggestion was made that _you_ are the one I need to just focus positively on, rather than always only thinking about the goddamn _negative_ that you bring into _every single minute of my life_!"

By the time Danny had finished, his face was red, his tie was askance, his shirt was halfway untucked – and Steve couldn't even fathom how that had happened – and he was breathing so fast Steve wanted to hand him a paper bag. But his eyes were bright and alive, and glaring at Steve like he'd just insulted every ancestor clear back to the Old Country, and his lips were set in a thin, really pissed off line.

"It's creeping me out," Steve finally said, thanking the stars for having his Danny back. Because that other Chin-like version was…yeah. Creepy. "So knock it off effective _now_."

"You, Lieutenant Commander What-The-Fuck-Part-Of-Hawaii-Have-I-Not-Yet-Blown-Up, do _not_ get to tell me to stop something that's good for my health!"

"Well, it's not good for _my_ health!" Steve yelled and then _realized_ he was yelling and for a moment thought he shouldn't be but then really didn't give a shit, because _this_ was the Danny he knew, and this felt _good_.

"Oh, that's rich, you are _so_ self-centered, it's all about _your_ health now! I should've known that already seeing how _I'm_ the one you're constantly trying to get killed—"

"I don't _ever_ try to get you killed, Christ, you're my _partner_! I just want my goddamned _partner_ back!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Steve felt heat creep up his neck and cover his face until his whole head felt like it was going to explode from it. And in front of Chin and Kono, too. _Ugh_.

"Let me get this straight," Danny said, strutting across the few feet that had come between them during Steve's uncharacteristic bout of yelling. He got right up into McGarrett's space, not caring one iota for it as he held Steve's eyes with his own. "You would prefer I let my blood pressure go through the roof on a daily – nay, _hourly_ – basis, because you like me better when I'm me than when I'm like Chin?"

"Nay, Danny?" Steve asked. "Really?"

"Yes, you bastard. _Nay_."

Steve stole a sideways glance at Chin, who smiled bemusedly, and at Kono, who was looking at him like he had sprouted extra arms or antlers or something. Then he looked back down at Danny, grinned and replied, "Yes?"

Danny deflated and Steve felt himself doing the same. Danny cocked his head sideways, a blindingly bright grin spreading across his face, and said, "I _knew_ Jersey would grow on you eventually."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Not _that_ much," he groused.

Stepping back a bit, Danny just waved a hand in the air as he turned and headed for his office. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said. All three of his teammates watched as he flopped down on the couch in there.

"Jesus," Steve said, sagging back against the table. "I think Danny's got the right idea," he finished, wiping a hand across his brow. "Fighting with him's like—"

"Whoa," Kono said, holding a hand up as she came into Steve's line of sight. "You two seriously need to get a room."

"A room," Chin added, "that is not in this building." And he said it with a straight face, too.

Steve looked at Chin quizzically for a moment, then got it, and nearly doubled over laughing. When Danny came out to investigate the cause of said mirth, as he so eloquently put it, Steve just put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Later, Danny. Right now I think we could both use a beer."

"You do, huh?" Danny asked as they exited the bullpen side-by-side.

"Yep. And then…a nap."

Danny yawned. "I agree. I haven't suddenly felt that wiped out since the last time—"

"Danny," Steve said. "Don't go there."

Danny definitely noted the distinctive I So Totally Know What You're Thinking Right Now Face that his partner was sporting. "McGarrett, seriously? You don't even know what I was going to—"

Steve stopped Danny by covering his mouth with his hand. "For the sake of our partnership, you will _not_ finish that thought."

Danny spoke into Steve's hand and Steve laughed as he released him. "There is something wrong with me that I understood that," he teased, heading for the driver's side of the Camaro.

"And something _inherently_ wrong with you, that you like _this_ me better than the Zen me."

"You keep telling me I need shrinks, Danno."

"Do _not_ call me that!" Danny griped as they slid into the car. And he ranted all the way to the bar about why precisely it was _so_ not right for Steve to use Grace's nickname for him.

Steve's smile never left his face.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 14<strong>

Show interest in what he feels is important in life.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__I am so sorry about this. Way 14 did not start out to be crack, but it forced itself into becoming crack anyway. I can only apologize for the characters insisting…_

* * *

><p>"What is Grace's favorite color?"<p>

Danny looked across the roof of the Camaro at his partner, a small and slightly bemused smile on his face. "Last week, this week or next week?" he asked.

Steve chuckled. "Right now, I guess."

"Do not laugh, McGarrett."

"At what?"

"Snugglepuss."

Steve blinked. He had to have heard wrong, he thought. "Excuse me?"

"Her favorite color right this very moment is what her mother painted her bedroom. Snugglepuss."

Steve double-blinked. "Which is most closely associated with?"

Danny cocked his head and squinted one eye thoughtfully before replying, "Lavender."

"Lavender."

Danny nodded. "Why the sudden interest in Grace's favorite color?"

Steve shrugged as he opened the driver's side door. Danny never did get an answer.

* * *

><p>"So what's Grace's favorite TV show?"<p>

Danny had just sat down on the opposite end of McGarrett's couch, beer in hand, ready to watch whatever football game was on that fine Sunday afternoon. He wasn't even sure which teams were going head-to-head, but was looking forward to a few hours of telling both the announcers and the refs just how unintelligent they, they're mothers and their offspring were for whatever happened to spew from their mouths at any given point.

"Her favorite TV show?"

Steve nodded, eyes on the cable menu as he scrolled through the sports channels.

"Well," Danny said with a small sigh as he drew a hand down over his face, "I guess that would depend on what day of the week it is, and what her friends have been talking about at school that day."

"Overall," Steve clarified with a gentle flap of his hand in Danny's direction. "If she were to say there was one show she wanted to watch no matter what day it was."

Danny cocked his head to the side, staring at the cable menu as Steve flicked the pointer down to the fourth channel listed, showing a Jets vs. Giants preseason game. Danny nodded his agreement, Steve hit Enter on the remote, and then Danny had an answer.

"She's been getting into these damn vampire shows. I swear to _God_ she is too young for them, but Rachel says they're harmless."

"Vampires?" Steve said, eyebrows going up as he turned to look at Danny. "She likes vampires?"

"Vampires," Danny confirmed.

"Danno," Steve said quietly, eyes intently on his partner's, "vampires don't exist."

"You know that and I know that and I think Grace knows that," Danny replied, swallowing convulsively at the look on Steve's face like maybe he'd turn into a bat here at some point. "But all these little girls these days they like the…you know, when they do the…thing," he said, hand slicing up into the air, "...with their things, you know…" he continued, two fingers forming a V shape that he pressed against his jugular, "and then the whole _thing_," he finished, pulling his hand away from his neck and letting it flutter to the sofa.

"Vampires," Steve repeated. "You know, being a vampire really sucks."

Danny groaned. "That was so bad it was _below_ the quantification for things that are that bad."

Steve half-smirked.

"How come you wanted to know Grace's favorite TV show?" Danny asked curiously.

But Steve just shrugged, suddenly so intent on the pre-game show that Danny began to wonder if the conversation had happened at all.

Vampires indeed.

* * *

><p>Danny heaved a long, slow sigh of relief. It felt good for the day they'd had to be over, and from the matching sigh out of Steve as he got the key into his front door and turned it, Danny was pretty sure his partner concurred.<p>

Minutes later the two men were firmly ensconced, or rather slouching tiredly, in the two white beach chairs at the edge of the ocean that constituted Steve's back yard. Or front yard, depending on how you wanted to look at which side of the house was the front versus the back. All of which was way too much thought process for either of them right now.

"So," Steve finally said, voice sounding groggy and somehow strangely alert all at the same time. Danny wondered how he managed to pull that off. "What's Grace's favorite animal?"

Danny, whose eyes had been closed, snapped them open and pulled his best WTF face. "You're asking me Grace's favorite animal?"

"Mmhm," Steve said, eyelids slipping closed as he leaned his head on the back of the chair.

"Favorite animal," Danny repeated, scratching his fingertips along his stubble-covered cheek. "It depends. If she sees a show about whales, she loves whales. If she sees the tigers at the zoo, she loves tigers. But the one thing she has always asked for, has always loved and wanted, and something I could never, ever afford, is a pony."

"So she likes ponies," Steve said, and he sounded for all the world like he was half asleep.

"Yes, as far as I know, that's been something she's liked since she was about two years old." Danny stopped and turned his head just enough sideways, rolling it against the back of the chair he was slouched in, that he could look directly at his partner. "Why do you keep asking me all these things about Grace's favorite stuff?" he asked after a few beats.

But Steve didn't answer. He didn't even shrug. Because Steve was already snoring. Danny gave it about another two seconds of thought before he joined Steve, and soon, their snores were drifting away on the warm night breeze.

* * *

><p>It was Grace's ninth birthday.<p>

All four members of Five-0 had decided to throw her a surprise birthday party at Steve's place. Danny had tried to talk them out of it, but they wouldn't be dissuaded. And Rachel, who was forever on Danny's shit list for reasons he refused to tell his teammates that were his own (ever since the "I'm pregnant, I've left Stan and I'm taking Grace back to New Jersey" incident), had nothing to say about the fact that their daughter would not be with _her_ on that particular day.

Well, she had plenty to say, but Danny had made certain it was crystal clear that he didn't give a rat's patootie. At least, that's what he called it in front of their daughter.

And so here they were, having had an unbelievably traditional Hawaiian and yet satisfyingly delicious birthday lunch prepared by Kamekona and six of his relatives who were…wait for it…bigger than _he_ was (and Danny had offered to buy them all memberships to the local gym because Jesus Christ). Grace was seated at the head of the table in Steve's huge kitchen. Kamekona's relatives had left, leaving only the big guy, Chin, Kono, Danny, Steve and the newly nine year-old Princess Grace.

Danny beamed with pride when she squeezed her eyes shut, made her wish, and blew out all nine candles on the first try. "Williams lungs," Steve had commented with a wink and a grin. Danny couldn't help but agree wholeheartedly.

Once Five-0 and Grace had all consumed huge portions of the cake…and Kamekona had happily eaten what was left over…out came the presents. First was from Kamekona himself: a Grace-sized orange tee shirt with red letters and a picture of a red shrimp with Kamekona's face instead of a normal shrimp head drawn in (and Danny commented several times about how that was just sick and wrong on too many levels to even contemplate).

Grace, however, thought it was absolutely _awesome_, especially after the big guy told her she was the _very first_ child who'd have that tee shirt advertising his new business expansion. That just made her day, and she pulled the tee shirt on over top of her sundress to prove it.

Kamekona never did stop grinning.

After that, Grace decided it was Chin's turn. He handed her a small gift, beautifully wrapped with a perfectly tied ribbon around it. Danny thought it looked like a jewelry box and wondered what in the world it could be. Grace placed it carefully on the table, gently untied the bow, and opened the paper so slowly Danny was sorely tempted to reach out and snatch the paper off himself.

The restraint he showed instead, was nothing less than admirable.

When Grace removed the top from what turned out to indeed be a jewelry box, she gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "It's a dolphin!" she cried out, then reached into the box and lifted out a thin gold chain, at the end of which was a very lightweight gold dolphin formed by lines that almost looked to Danny like they resembled the petroglyphs he and Steve had nearly had a chance to enjoy on that hike a while back.

"Chin," Danny whispered in disbelief. Because, jewelry for his nine year-old daughter? Really?

"The eye of the dolphin is peridot," Chin explained to Grace as he stood and came around behind her to help her fasten the clasp behind her neck.

"It's green," Grace noted, holding the small charm in her hand as she waited for Chin to finish.

"Peridot is treasured here in Hawaii as the goddess Pele's tears," Chin said, letting his hand linger on the back of Grace's neck for just a second before returning to his seat. "Peridot protects you, making you cautious in your daily activities, and slows the aging process." Chin smiled as everyone listened intently, young Grace included. "It also increases your level of patience, your level of confidence, and your assertiveness, Grace, and keeps your lungs and heart healthy."

"Wow," Grace breathed, staring down at the dolphin's small green eye before gently letting the charm come to a rest against her Kamekona-tee-shirt-covered chest. "Thank you, Uncle Chin."

Chin smiled widely. "You're welcome."

Danny, Steve noted, was completely speechless.

Luckily, Kono offered her gift next, giving Danny time to find his tongue from wherever it had disappeared to.

Kono's package for Grace was rectangular, maybe about eight inches by ten, and only about an inch thick. Danny watched as Grace unwrapped it. It was a framed photo, and when Danny rose slightly to peer over the table, he knew instantly which picture it was. It was the photograph that had been taken of Kono riding the mother of all waves just before she'd gone down and blown out her knee, ending her professional surfing career.

The picture that had been hanging in Kono's Five-0 office since the day the four of them moved into it.

Danny looked over at Kono, quirking an eyebrow. Kono just grinned and said to Grace, "This was me back when I was going to surf for a living. Because you're learning how to surf, and you're doing so well at it, I thought you might want to keep this picture for me until the day you can replace it on your wall with one of you doing exactly what I'm doing in that photo."

Grace's grin grew large, covering her face, even as her father muttered, "Leave out the busted-up knee, Monkey."

Steve and Chin chuckled as Grace gave Kono a hug. "Thank you," the little girl whispered into Kono's hair. "I'll hang it up at home so I can see it every day and remember how good I want to be."

Kono all-out grinned and Danny just couldn't be mad about all the encouragement to get his precious child out there going after waves five times taller than his beanpole partner.

Speaking of his beanpole partner, Danny thought…and watched as Steve exited the kitchen quietly. He followed him out the back double-doors to the lanai and his jaw dropped in complete and utter disbelief, incredulity, and nothing short of a near-state of shock.

"Oh, Grace!" Steve called, grinning for all he was worth over the look on his partner's face. "Grace, come here if you want your present from me!"

Now, generally speaking, Grace Williams was not one to squeal. Thanks to her mother's influence, she was a lady in nearly all respects, but this? This particular moment as she moved quickly out to the lanai to stand in between her father and her father's partner? This moment called for _major_ squealing.

A man was standing there dressed as…of all things…a vampire. He was about Steve's height, his hair was wavy and longish, and his eyes were completely white. He had fangs that looked so real Danny had to resist the urge to haul his kid back away from the guy. His clothing seemed normal enough if you counted a long-sleeved tee shirt and black jeans as normal, and the way he squinted in the sun and seemed sort of pale completed the effect pretty darn well.

But it wasn't just the vampire man standing there. Oh, no. In his hand he held a lead. At the end of that lead was a snow white pony. And between the black leather saddle and the pony's back, was…Danny seriously could _not_ believe it…a snugglepuss-colored blanket.

Grace was still squealing.

Danny looked at Steve. He couldn't even get the word "How?" out of his throat properly, but his partner seemed to understand. He threw an arm around Danny's shoulders and watched Grace's joy with a grin so wide Danny was sure it'd crack Steve's face right in two.

"Don't worry," the vampire guy said to Danny, and for half a second, Danny thought he'd lost his mind, because how did the guy look so much like a younger version of Steve? "I'll take good care of your princess."

Younger-Steve-Looking-Vampire-Guy leaned down, picked Grace up, and placed her gently in the pony's saddle. Then he slowly led the pony down to the harder, wet sand at the edge of the water, and proceeded along the beach until they went around the curve of it and were out of sight.

Danny leaned into his partner, whose arm was still around his shoulder. "Thank you," he said, unable, really, to say anything more as Kono and Chin flanked them.

Then Danny stiffened and stepped out of Steve's one-armed hug. "But if she comes back a vampire, or with all her blood drained, I will effing _kill_ you."

Steve laughed out loud. "Don't worry, she won't," Steve replied. "I happen to know for a fact that Mick doesn't kill children or innocents."

Danny wondered if he was really supposed to be comforted by that, but when he heard Grace's shrieks of laughter as the pony galloped back toward them, Mick somehow keeping pace and holding Grace steady in the saddle with his hands around her waist, he figured if he could adapt to Hawaii? He could adapt to anything.

Especially to a team…and, he thought, a _partner_…who really cared about what mattered to him the most.

Later, though, he was going to find out more about this Mick character…because the guy, for some reason, really made Danny want to wear an armor-plated turtleneck.


	8. Ways 15 and 16

**Way 15**

Give him special time with you apart from the children.

This was going to take a while for Danny to figure out. He wasn't sure exactly how he knew that. He just _did_.

And what it was, this thing that was going to take him a while to figure out, was his partner acting…now, how could he put this so it didn't make his own mind laugh out loud at him…stranger than his usual strange.

Didn't work. Mind still laughing out loud.

Damn.

Over the past precisely six weeks, Steve had been acting what could be considered for him, 'out of sorts,' as Rachel used to constantly tell Danny he was. Well, there was no accounting for accurate psych profiles from wives or ex-wives, neither of which Danny was to Steve, so Danny was confident in his use of that British phrase.

Steve was definitely out of sorts.

Not that anyone else would've noticed. They probably hadn't, from the governor right on through to Chin and Kono. But Danny was different. Okay, he was different in a lot of ways, but in this _particular_ way he was _really_ different. Because he knew Steve better than anybody. So he _knew_ from all the little things that had (or hadn't) been happening, something was wrong.

Danny loved puzzles and while he'd been largely unsuccessful trying to figure out the overall McGarrett puzzle that encompassed birth to present second/minute/hour, he thought maybe starting with this smaller puzzle of McGarrett's behavior might gain him some ground even on the big puzzle. Big puzzle, little puzzle. Since when did Danny's partnership start rating as a game, anyway?

That was an easy one to answer, and Danny snorted out laughter, dropping his pen to his desk. Their partnership had been a game from 'the count of three,' and he knew it. Christ, how was this Five-0 thing his life, anyway?

Now it was time for Danny to take stock, make a list, gather the evidence and then come to a conclusion. He whipped out a fresh legal pad, grabbed his favorite pen from its hiding place third drawer down where McGarrett could never find it with the express purpose of making it disappear and then acting ten kinds of innocent about it, and started to think.

The list came out as follows:

- He's acting agitated whenever we're in the bullpen

- He seems perfectly fine and normal when we're going somewhere in the Camaro

- He's begged out of hitting our favorite sushi place for lunch at least twelve times in the last six weeks

- He always seems on the verge of asking me something and then just walks away without asking

- He has come to my apartment no less than two dozen times in the last six weeks, and always to drop something off that he claims I forgot at the office. Only twice has that actually been true.

- He pulls out the aneurism face at least five times a day, which is way up from the normal once a day.

Danny stopped and looked thoughtfully at his list. The only thing that really stood out as being able to give him any clue whatsoever, was the one thing that wasn't like the others (and that damned _Sesame Street_ song came back to him from Grace's earlier years).

The one different thing on the list was the fact that Steve seemed perfectly fine and normal when the two of them were going somewhere together in the Camaro.

Danny leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen against his lips. He squinted up at the ceiling. So what was it, then? Steve was always driving whenever they were in the Camaro together. So could it be maybe that he wasn't getting enough drive time these past six weeks?

No, no, that wasn't the case at all. They'd been in the Camaro a lot over the past six weeks. Moreso perhaps than in the two prior years of their partnership and the Camaro's existence as Danny's car that he never drove when McGarrett was around.

What else?

The Camaro was where they had their conversations most of the time, because it was private and when you're just sitting there across from a guy without the radio on, _something_ has to fill the silence, or so Danny believed wholeheartedly.

Well, they'd still been having said discussions, with Danny, of course, contributing the most to them, but nothing had changed about what he said, how he said it, or the fact that most of it was aimed at berating McGarrett for his lack of common sense, police procedure, and too many other things to put on this particular list.

So no, the bantering and arguing wasn't the problem. That was still there.

Which left him with what, exactly?

The fact that Steve seemed fine in the car, but not any other time, especially during a work day when the whole team was in the off—

Danny's eyes widened, and then narrowed as he sat straight up in his chair. He looked back down at the list. "He's agitated whenever we're in the bullpen." His mind whirred and clicked thoughts into place. "Whenever," he finished aloud as he wrote it down, "we're not _alone_ in the bullpen."

_A-ha!_

Now for the next one. "He's begged out of our favorite sushi place for lunch." Danny cocked his head and tapped the tip of the pen on his desk. Then a smile slowly spread across his face, and he verbally and with the pen added, "Whenever the whole team is going together."

He thought he just might be starting to get the picture.

"He always seems to be on the verge of asking me something and then just walks away." Danny's mind immediately went down that road. He added, "Whenever it turns out Chin, Kono, Jenna or anyone else is in the immediate vicinity."

_Well, isn't that interesting?_

"He comes to my apartment way more than he ever has before." Danny quickly scribbled, "Acts damn uncomfortable until I invite him to sit down and have a beer, then doesn't leave 'til 2am." He added, "And lies about why he's there."

Only one more clue. The frequency of Steve pulling aneurism face out of his back pocket and displaying it for the world to see. Danny tried to think back to the instances he'd seen it, but wasn't quite able to pinpoint what had or hadn't been going on around them at the time. But then today, earlier today, Steve had pulled it three times in a row.

"And all three times," Danny said aloud, deciding this one didn't need to be written down, "were times I was talking about taking my week's vacation with Grace, taking her back to New Jersey to see our family."

Danny knew…he just _knew_…what the problem was. And as he opened Internet Explorer on his desktop, a grin spread across his face that threatened to split it in two.

* * *

><p>They were at the airport, Steve standing there as Grace gave him a hug good-bye. Danny stuck out his hand, a big smile on his face. "Thanks for dropping us off," he said as Steve clasped his hand.<p>

But then Steve frowned and looked down at what Danny had left behind in his hand. He unfolded the piece of paper out of its neatly-creased fourths and took a look at what it was as Grace grabbed Danny's hand and her rolling backpack and headed toward the security checkpoint.

"Danny!" Steve called out, then loped up to where they'd just reached the entrance to the long, twisting line.

He stopped and turned a big grin and laughing eyes to his partner's face.

"What is this?" Steve asked, waving the piece of paper around. "Two tickets to New Jersey for day after you get back?"

Danny couldn't smile any wider if he wanted to. "I'm bringing Grace back on the fifteenth," he said. "Rachel will be here to pick her up from the airport, and _you_," he continued, pointing at his friend, "will be here to go through this very same security checkpoint and then board a plane _back_ to Jersey. With me."

A myriad of looks played over Steve's face, not the least of which were WTF Face, Say WHAT Face and Why-The-Hell-Would-I-Want-To-Go-To-Jersey Face.

"I just thought it might be nice for us to get away." Danny clapped his hands over Grace's ears. "You know, without the kids."

"Kids?" Steve repeated.

"Yeah, you know, the Hawaiian ones we work with."

Steve's eyes widened, he looked down at the itinerary, and then looked back up at Danny. His face broke out into the widest grin Danny had ever seen. "Just me and you in Jersey?" Steve asked.

Danny nodded. "Yes. But next week. Right now I have to get my baby girl on the plane, and me too, but next week it's just you and me, babe. Okay?"

Steve just stood there with that silly, stupid, lovable grin plastered all over his face as Danny turned and steered Grace to the back of the line. Each and every time Danny chanced a look back, Steve was still standing there smiling like the complete goofball he was, until the last time Danny looked to find McGarrett gone.

Danny knew he had deducted the reason for Steve's strange behavior recently, and from the reaction he got, he knew he'd been right on the money. Steve just needed Steve Time, and how disturbing was it that his partner was feeling that neglected when the two of them spent at least twelve hours a day together, anyway? But either way, Danny had found the perfect solution to the problem, and resolved that from here on out he would make it a point to make time for them to just be friends together, rather than everything revolving around work, so that he didn't go broke buying tickets for Jersey every month.

And whether or not McGarrett ever figured out _why_ Danny bought him a ticket to introduce him to Jersey, and the Williams clan, for the first time, was irrelevant. Because _Danny_ would know, and Danny would _always_ know…now that he knew the signs…when Steve – the big, stoic, military BAMF himself – needed to be reminded he was important to Danny as more than just a work partner.

Funny thing was, he'd forgotten to ask his boss for that extra week off. Somehow, he doubted that boss would say no…

* * *

><p><strong>Way 16<strong>

The first minutes after a spouse comes home often sets the stage for how the rest of the evening will go. Try to make that time a positive experience. (Ease into the negative.)

Steve was downright going out of his skull crazy.

Damn his having gotten shot two days ago right through his thigh.

Damn the doctor for forcing him to take an entire week off to heal.

Damn the governor for actually locking him out of Five-0 headquarters for said week.

And damn Detective Danny Williams for insisting he was the best medicine for a bored-out-of-his-mind Lieutenant Commander.

A bored Steve never led to good things, and he'd been sitting here on the couch (or alternately attempting calisthenics while refusing to admit it hurt like a bitch to even try to stand without the crutches) for almost ten whole hours while his partner – who'd gotten a short-term promotion during Steve's 'week of convalescence and oh _God_, how he detested that word with every fiber of his being – had been out running around the island with Chin and Kono investigating the case that had gotten Steve shot to begin with.

So all Steve wanted to do at the precise moment he heard Danny's key _snick_ in the front door, was stand up on his own two feet (thankyouverymuch) and give Danny a taste of his own medicine in the form of a rant that would be likely to set the whole of New Jersey on fire from five thousand miles away.

He struggled up off the couch, managing to stand with most of his weight on his good leg. And just as Danny came into view, Steve opened his mouth to speak.

Just as quickly, he snapped it shut.

Danny looked like shit. His hair was full of soot and ash, his face was covered in it. His once-light-grey dress shirt was stained black and ruined beyond repair and his tie was nowhere in sight. The button-down was wide open, revealing a wifebeater Steve was sure was supposed to be white, but right now was nothing more than damp shades of light and dark grey. And Danny's blue-gray dress pants had a huge tear from his left hip clear down to below the knee.

At least his shoes looked intact, but without closer inspection, Steve couldn't be sure.

Every ounce of annoyance over his current state of being bled out of Steve faster than his own A+ type had when the bullet had nicked his femoral artery. Now he was just wishing he'd been there to have Danny's back, because the somewhat pained look on his partner's face told him more than he wanted to know about how much Danny had actually _needed_ him today.

"Hey," Steve said softly, reaching down to grab the fresh bottle of water he'd placed on the coffee table earlier. He held it out toward his partner's slumped form, Danny leaning heavily against the wall like he was trying to hold it up with just his arm and shoulder.

"Hey," Danny said quietly, coming forward to take the offered drink. "Thanks."

He uncapped the bottle and gulped the entire thing down inside a minute. When he finished, he moved closer and Steve could smell smoke and noticed a few places on Danny's hair where it seemed singed rather than just soot-laden. He couldn't help his brow knitting in response.

"You okay, brother?" Steve asked, and was reminded of that moment he was air-lifted from the edge of the cliff after Danny had pulled him up. He couldn't help the little grin that came when his partner's air heart, as he'd come to call it, made its first appearance.

It had sort of become a 'thing' since then that made them both laugh.

Evidently, Danny's mind had gone the same direction at Steve's utterance, and Steve was rewarded with a small smile and a bit of twinkle returning to his best friend's really, _really_ bloodshot eyes.

Steve allowed himself to full-out grin when he said, "You missed me out there, didn't you?"

Danny's smile blossomed like warmth and sunshine, never mind that even his _teeth_ seemed grey, for Christ's sake, as his lips parted to let them show. "Like a bitch," he agreed. "Mind if I use your shower?"

"'Course not," Steve said, gingerly lowering himself back to the couch, smile still on his face. He watched as Danny nodded his thanks and headed for the stairs.

At the base of them, though, his partner stopped with his hand on the banister. He looked lost in thought for a few seconds, then his eyes met Steve's across the room. Another huge grin broke out on his face as his hands came up in front of him and he mimed the same thing he'd mimed as the chopper had been taking Steve away from Danny and the dead body they'd found that day at the petroglyph site.

Steve winked, grinned, and settled back with the remote. Danny would be in a good mood for the rest of the night, which meant Steve would be regaled with a lengthy, detailed and no doubt highly amusing story of what precisely had gone sideways for Danny and the team in the ten hours since Steve had last seen him.

At least he wouldn't be bored anymore.

At least Danny was still alive to make sure of it.


	9. Ways 17 and 18

_Author's Note: This particular one (Way 17) is noticeably darker than my usual 'Way' fare, so don't be expecting laughs! (Hey, not everything's fluff…)_

**Way 17**

Don't allow family members to treat him disrespectfully. Defend him to anyone that dishonors his place as your husband.

"Christ, Williams. You went from Meka to…" Coda's voice trailed off for a moment as he eyed Steve McGarrett who leaned lazily against the wall across the room. "To _that _freakin' Hawaiian wannabe?"

Danny's eyes narrowed. He'd never liked Coda, really. The guy was a little too harsh around the edges, for one thing. He was always saying things that could be considered lewd and obnoxious, but with just enough context to never be able to get called on it.

Normally, as a man, and a cop for long enough he'd pretty much seen it all, a filthy mouth on another cop…or on anyone, for that matter…wouldn't even have made Danny blink twice. But the thing that'd always gotten to him about Coda's behavior since he'd first arrived from Jersey, was the fact that he'd heard about Coda actually trying to act on some of what he said.

Of course, they were only rumors. Much like the rumors that circulated about Danny and his own partner, and those stepped way over the line from suggestive to downright obscene in many cases. So Danny had always, as he did with pretty much everyone, tried to give Coda the benefit of the doubt in this case, too. Because if the rumor mills could get him and Steve so wrong, surely they could do the same to Coda or anyone else.

And yet there was something in the way Coda's eyes were moving. Darting back and forth between Steve and Danny before stopping to catch Danny's glare. "At least Meka was a straight arrow. Definitely something to what I hear on the street, if the look on your face is any indication," he said, voice lowered an octave.

"_That_," Danny spat, "is my _partner_ you're talking about, asshole."

"In oh, so many ways, no doubt," Coda replied quickly. His eyes went back to shooting daggers at Steve McGarrett, who had begun speaking with Duke. "I mean, hell, I can see a boy from Jersey splitting the fine hairs between teams, but it worries me a little when someone who's supposed to be defending our country's playing for the home team."

Danny hauled back and felt his fist connect with Coda's jaw, a sickening and yet satisfying crunch the exclamation point to the moment. Before he could even shake the pain out of his fist, Steve was by his side while a few other officers knelt around Coda on the floor. Coda, who was holding his jaw like it might fall off if he didn't, and whose tongue darted out to lick a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"You fucking _queer_," Coda spat.

Danny saw Steve's eyes widen, darting to Danny's face and then back down to Coda's. Then Danny forgot all about the pain in his hand when Steve, eyes locked firmly on Coda's, said evenly, "You wish."

Grinning and shrugging in apology at his former captain, who stood there glaring at the pair from Five-0 like this was yet _another_ mess they'd gotten into that he was going to be left to clean up, Danny jerked his head toward the precinct entrance.

"Homophobic asshole," Danny muttered when they'd reached the Camaro parked out on the street.

"What did he say that made you hit him?" Steve asked as Danny tossed him the keys. Danny didn't reply, but finally was able to shake his hand out a little. Hell, that'd hurt. But it'd been worth it. "Oh, my God," Steve said at last, causing Danny to look across the roof at him in surprise.

"What?" Danny asked, using his other hand to open the door.

They slid easily into their respective seats, closing the doors behind them. "He said something about me, didn't he?"

"Me, you…what difference does it make?" Danny half-shrugged, cradling his hand to his stomach and wishing he had some painkillers.

Steve pointed the Camaro toward the nearest emergency room and was silent for a few minutes. Finally, he spoke. "Thanks," was all he said.

Danny half-smiled, nodding in response to the shit-eating grin Steve was wearing. He couldn't wait to hear what the rumor mill would have next time around.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 18<strong>

Compliment him often.

"Good shot, partner."

Danny grinned at him from across the bed of his pickup truck. "Not so bad yourself. For an Army brat."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You just can't let anything stand as-is, can you? Always have to have the last word, insult me even when you're being complimented."

"You'd think something was wrong with me if I didn't," Danny replied as two HPD cruisers arrived, sirens blaring.

"I already think there's something wrong with you," Steve retorted.

Danny laughed out loud.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you managed to make it sound this good," Steve said, re-reading the final paragraph of the report Danny had just emailed to him.<p>

Danny shrugged. "Figuring out how to make SEAL techniques sound like they aren't being misused simply because the governor gave us a free pass is an art form, my friend."

"I don't misuse my free pass."

"Are we really at the point here where you want me to say, 'Do so,' Steven?"

Steve put on a winning cross between Pouty Face #3 and Aneurism Face #2. "I do _not_ misuse my free pass."

"_Our_, Steve. _Our_ free pass. It applies to all of us. Not just you."

"Maybe you should take more advantage of it."

Danny's right eyebrow went up. "You should seriously not say leading things like that."

"You are such a child, Danno."

Danny smirked. "Says the man who insists upon using my nine year old's nickname for me."

Steve laughed out loud.

* * *

><p>"You know, aside from the fact that we would never have gotten into this mess in the first place if it hadn't been for you and your, 'it's only a little old lady, Danny,' bullshit, I have to say, your aplomb in the face of four terrorists holding her little Yorkie hostage was admirable."<p>

"I think you just insulted me more than you complimented me."

"Whoops," Danny said, trying and failing miserably to hold in his grin, "I only meant to insult you."

Steve snorted in response.

* * *

><p>"I wouldn't fuck with him," Steve said, hands raised to be even with the top of his head, eyes cataloging, storing and calculating. "He's like a pit bull."<p>

Danny's head whipped around to look at his partner. His jaw dropped and he spluttered, "Seriously, Steve? You're comparing me to a damn _dog_ now?"

"It was a compliment."

Danny snorted. "Half-assed Neanderthal one if you ask me."

"I didn't."

"A pit bull."

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Well, you're barrel-chested—"

"I am not barrel-ches—"

"And you're a lot of power wrapped in a small frame, and—"

"So help me God if you do not shut up I will _let_ this jack-off shoot you in the _face_—"

"And let's face it, Danny, when you get your chops into a nice, big, meaty steak you do sort of hold on tight."

Danny looked like he was about to throttle him. "You, _you_ are walking home, McGarrett."

"You wouldn't make me walk after having my life threatened—"

"No, see, that's where you're wrong, because if you and I go back to HQ in the same car, your life will be even _more_ threatened than you can fath—"

"Shut _up_!" the perp yelled.

Both men turned their eyes slowly back to him. His finger jerked minutely against the trigger of the Sig he had trained at Steve.

Danny pursed his lips as the asshole's eyes met his, and fired. The perp went down, as did Steve's hands.

"See?" Steve said, when Danny growled. "Pit bull."

He was rewarded by Danny snapping his teeth at him.

"You start barking, _you_ can walk home."

Danny snorted in response.

* * *

><p>"Really?"<p>

"Really."

"Well, thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"No, really, I mean it."

"So do I. You're already cocky enough."

"This from the man who struts around like a peacock all day."

"I do not strut, Steven. I swagger. Big difference."

"Not really."

"Okay, so if I strut, what do you call what you do?"

"Walking."

"No. You do not walk. You run."

"Just because you have—"

"You make a snarky comment about the length of my legs and yours will shortly be the same size as mine."

"You said 'shortly.'"

"You are so immature."

"Am not."

"I am not getting into this with you again."

"I'm seriously glad you're the height you are, though. No, no, just listen to me."

"This had better be good."

"Oh, it is. Who else could've taken Hemmings out at the kneecaps like that?"

"You are _so_ dead."

"By you and what army?"

"Ha! You said Army."

"Now who's immature?"

"You know what? Both of us, okay? We're both immature. We can't compliment each other without insulting each other and really, what the hell kind of role model is that for my daughter, anyway, Christ."

"I don't ever insult you in front of Grace."

"You'd better not. Ever."

"I won't. You're too good a father for me to mess with that side of things."

"You'll just mess with every other side of my things instead."

"Pretty much."

"You are _such_ an ass."


	10. Ways 19 and 20

**Way 19**

Give him time to unwind after he gets home from work. Your evenings will be much more enjoyable.

Steve was surprised Danny had just dropped him off and gone on home. Usually after a case wrapped, Danny was in his face to the point where more than once McGarrett had wanted to physically remove his partner from his airspace. He'd never given in to the urge, however, because like he did on everything else, Steve was pretty certain Danny would fight him tooth and nail – it just wouldn't be worth it.

So on the ride home he'd mentally prepared himself for a full evening of the cadence of Danny's voice as it dipped low to a near-whisper when muttering and rose to a near-shout when he hit a topic that pissed him off about as much as his ex-wife's lawyer.

He'd already gotten himself to the point where he could deal with the dizzying effect of Danny's demonstrative hands, the constant motion he was in even when appearing to be at rest. More than once Steve had had to look away when Danny was being particularly animated and more than once he'd had the fleeting thought that the motion sickness part of Hell Week should've included spending an hour in a confined space with Danny's hands.

That was why, when Danny got into the driver's seat of the Camaro rather than following Steve to his front door and bitching about how long it took him to unlock it and turn off the alarm, it threw Steve off his game a bit.

But hey, whatever, maybe Danny was just tired enough to want to fall onto his foldout and sleep the weekend away. Or maybe Danny simply was too mad at whatever Steve knew his partner was mad at him for, even though Steve had managed not to blow anything up in the past few days, or get Danny or anyone else shot.

Truth was, Steve was more than just a little pumped up from the leftover adrenaline, and the further truth to his current state of mind was the fact that _because_ he hadn't been able to shoot anyone, blow anything up or otherwise cause mayhem that always came to a halfway decent conclusion, he was revving like a race car engine at the start line.

He needed to swim.

* * *

><p>Ninety minutes later and Steve was finally feeling like he could relax enough to maybe fall asleep tonight. He hauled himself out of the water, swiped a hand over his face to clear his eyes, and made his way to the two white beach chairs, one of which had a towel slung over the back of it.<p>

The other of which had his partner strewn _in_ it.

"Hey, I thought you'd gone home for the night."

"Nah," Danny said. "I just figured I'd let you unwind for a while before I filled up the empty spaces with my exuberance."

Steve huffed out a laugh. "Exuberance, huh? Is that what they're calling it now?" But really, he knew Danny had done the right thing, and when had anyone Steve had ever known taken the time to learn exactly what Steve needed and when, anyway?

Because if Danny _had_ come right into the house with him, Steve would've been wound tighter than a python around a human victim (and no, he did _not_ want to think further about how intimately familiar he was with that particular analogy), and he pretty much figured Danny would've become the victim in that scenario.

Somehow, Danny had known that, too.

"Get the edge off?" Danny asked as Steve plopped into the second chair and took the offered bottle of beer.

"Something like that," Steve replied, and held the bottle out toward his partner.

Danny eyed him and then clinked their bottles together. He took a long pull and settled back. There was a soft sigh and Steve turned to look at him, still pumped enough to be sitting on the edge of the chair rather than melting bonelessly into it like Danny seemed to be doing.

Creeped Steve out a little to have someone be able to know what he needed without a word spoken. Then he thought, you know, maybe it wasn't so bad having a friend read you as well as Danny seemed to. Maybe that right there was just enough to take the rest of his adrenaline and allow it to seep away.

The idea made him smile a little. He drained the bottle of beer, leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, as the soft sounds of Danny's snores and the softer swish of the waves on his little piece of beach lulled him into restfulness at last.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 20<strong>

Be creative when you express your love, both in words and in actions.

Okay, yeah, so maybe Danny was a little more expressive than most men. And maybe, just maybe, a little more demonstrative.

The cool thing was, Steve seemed to take it all in stride. So did Chin. And Kono. While everyone at HPD but Meka had more often than not called him a nutjob or even accused him of being soft, his current team left Danny feeling nothing but accepted. Even if the acceptance came with funny looks, sly grins and the occasional shaking of dark-haired heads.

But all things considered, he could be himself with his teammates in a way he couldn't have been even with Rachel. She was all about poise and refinement, while he was all about rough edges and loudly voicing his opinion whether anyone wanted to hear it or not.

That had been one of the things she'd been attracted to most in the beginning, he knew – that he was so polar opposite of her to the very core of his being. And she, she was like nothing and no one else he'd ever known on the streets of Weehawken, Newark, the Shore. She'd been something soft and delicate for him to treasure and yet it'd turned out she was just as fierce and could get just as nasty as he could underneath that cool exterior.

So they had collided, exploded spectacularly, created a perfect, beautiful baby girl and then ripped themselves away from each other, leaving open, gaping wounds in their wake.

He'd never fallen out of love with her. He knew this. Because he knew his heart. And yet having had to go so far away from the only home he'd ever known, so that he could be near Grace, Danny was surprised to find that there were more people he could love, and right here in Hawaii.

He joked with Kono that he loved her. She punched him in the arm and rolled her eyes, but they both knew the affection was real. That if something happened to the other, they'd hurt because they were family now.

And he and Chin? Well, there was never a doubt that either would go to the mats for the other, have each other's backs. Danny had known from the time Chin knelt with that goddamn bomb strapped around his neck that the thought of losing the quiet, fiercely intelligent man cored him right in the gut. Chin had been through so much shit and yet was still Chin, and the amusing looks the islander sent his way, and the friendly jibes Danny directed right back at him, sealed the deal. Yeah, they were family now too, no matter how unlikely of a family they might be.

And then there was his partner. Okay, yeah, so maybe Danny was a little more expressive than most men. And maybe, just maybe, a little more demonstrative. No, he wouldn't walk up to Kono and lay a hand on her arm. She'd take him down with a Jiu Jitsu move or some shit if he did. And Danny certainly would not, in due course of normal conversation, lay a hand on Chin's back no matter what sort of excuse his mind dreamed up.

But the one thing that mystified Danny was that he did those things and more to his very own partner, and not once had Steve flinched or pulled away or even so much as given him a sidelong glance for it.

For one of the first times outside of the Williams clan, Danny had found he could actually touch someone else without it getting blown way out of proportion, or making the other person so uncomfortable they'd request a fast transfer to a precinct in the next county (and no, he did not even want to hear his own mind retell that story or all the ones like it).

Christ, Danny knew it was his downfall in life, to be this guy who was so uncontrollably touchy-feely it was like he had hand-Tourettes or something. Danny thought how unfair it was that he didn't come lock, stock and barrel with a blinking neon sign that said: Spontaneous darting-out of limbs, beware.

And then he'd go and do things like draw hearts in the air in front of Army guys and Chin Ho and feel not one ounce of remorse for it. Or he'd check Steve's entire body from head to toe after a nasty bust just to make sure the idiot wasn't hiding injuries. Or he'd lend Steve a hand patching bullet holes and replacing dry wall after an old SEAL buddy decided to use the McGarrett house as target practice.

Well, Danny maybe wasn't altogether always that creative at demonstrating how he felt about people. Unless you called blustering insults that meant the opposite of what he truly felt as creative, or maybe the way his hands _always moved_.

It was more the little things that counted here, in the body language and in the brushes of arms and fingertips and in the way knees bumped together, and the looks from eyes to eyes. And really, Danny tried to hold it in but sometimes it was more subconscious than anything. He supposed he wouldn't hold it against his new team if they eventually shipped him back to HPD citing borderline sexual harassment.

But as the five of them stood around the computer table in the bullpen, each poring over separate files…as Danny made a small hum that meant he'd locked onto something he thought was a valuable piece of information…as Steve leaned closer and put his hand on Danny's shoulder so he could look right over Danny's body down to the piece of information in question…Danny thought, maybe he wasn't the only one who liked to be expressive.

It was a breath of fresh air, like his world had just gone from Kansas to Oz in the blink of an eye. And to a feeling of 'safe' that hadn't warmed Danny's insides since the day he'd left home. A quirked grin up at Steve, and the mirror of it he got back from his partner, confirmed it.

In the privacy of his own mind, Danny admitted he was finally home. Hand-Tourettes and all.

'Course, he'd never tell Steve that…


	11. Ways 21 and 22

**Way 21**

Talk with him about having specific family goals for each year to achieve together to feel closer as a marital team.

"I have decided something."

Steve looked up warily from where he was sitting on the lanai with his legs in a wide V, stretching in preparation for a late afternoon run. Nothing good ever came of Danny announcing he'd decided something.

"Today is New Year's Eve."

"Ye-es," Steve said slowly stretching it into two distinct syllables. He leaned very hard to the left until his ribcage rested snugly along his thigh.

"So we're making New Year's Resolutions and I'm going to make sure you stick to them."

Steve looked up at his partner again, slowly raising himself to an upright seated position. "I don't think so, D."

"No, see, this is not up for negotiation, sailor. You and me, we're making New Year's Resolutions, and we're doing it right now."

"I was just going for a run." _No, that didn't come out sounding like a whine,_ Steve thought.

"No problem. You run, I think of the resolutions, you agree to them all and you stick to them. Piece of cake for 2012, right?"

"I trust you to have my back in a firefight. I trust you to be able to take care of yourself in a situation. I even trust you not to tell anyone about my peppermint patty fetish."

"Wow. I'm touched."

"I do not, however, under any circumstances, trust you to make New Year's Resolutions for me, and then force me to stick to them when you and I both know I won't last to five minutes past midnight on any of them."

"How can you possibly say that when you don't even know what they are?"

"Because," Steve said, leaning to the right until his ribcage was nestled against the other thigh, "I know you."

"Okay, using that line in this context is so wrong."

"Danny," Steve said patiently, with the distinct feeling that if he didn't get out of there now, he was totally screwed. "I am going for my run. If you are still here when I get back, you will not talk to me about resolutions you want to make for me. Clear?"

Danny's normally warm eyes flipped to icy blue steel about halfway through. "Fine. I'm done trying to make your life less lonely. Have a good New Year's fucking Eve. _Partner_."

Danny turned on heel and the Camaro's engine was revving up before Steve even registered he was gone. It wasn't until he was thirty minutes into his run that it next came to his mind to wonder what the hell had made Danny do such an about-face from the warmth he was used to out of his best friend, to the Ice Queen-type bitch that had whirlwinded his way right back out the door.

Steve didn't think he was in any way being unreasonable in telling Danny he had no business making Steve's resolutions for him. He hadn't even gotten to the part where he would have explained to Danny that he didn't _believe_ in New Year's Resolutions, and therefore _never_ made them. He also didn't really feel like having the argument _yet again_ that no, he was not going to start wearing a tie to the office, or patent leather loafers, nor was he going to wait two hours for a search warrant when he could've caught the criminals on his own by then.

That wasn't unreasonable. Danny wanting to run Steve's life? _That_ was unreasonable.

So let Danny stay in his snit. Steve would most likely be tinkering with the Marquis when midnight hit and anyway, when you spend more than a decade in the Navy, you tend to not pay attention to things like New Year's Eve. It would come and go, the next day would just be another day on the calendar. Another day for terrorists to take lives, to plot the downfall of other countries. Another day day for rapists to rape and murderers to murder and molesters to molest.

No, Steve wasn't pessimistic. But he'd chased far too many slimes of the Earth and seen way too many casualties of war to be as dopily optimistic as a child. Steve lost his innocent way of looking at the world the day his mother died. It was just who he was now: a realist. He wasn't depressed or fucked in the head or any one of the other things Danny tried to constantly convince him was wrong with him. He just knew how things really worked out there beyond the paradise of the Hawaiian islands, and slotting some fake New Year's Resolutions into that blood-and-guts history was a ridiculous waste of time.

* * *

><p>Steve returned home from his run, finding himself hoping Danny would be there. But apparently not, because the Camaro was nowhere in sight and the house was locked up tight with the alarm on, as Steve had left it.<p>

He sighed. Maybe he'd been a bit harsh with Danny. After all, even with all the cases he'd solved back in Jersey, and all the things Danny had done and seen on the bad side of human nature after coming to Hawaii, the man was nothing if not optimistic. Danny had a childlike quality that, most times, Steve found annoying.

Except when he really needed the boost in spirits. _Well, that was hypocritical of you now, wasn't it? It's okay for Danny to act like a stupidly optimistic ball of kitten fluff when it suits _your_ purpose but any other time he's just being an unrealistic dork?_

Yeah, not so much.

Steve suddenly felt like a really shitty friend. Just because he and Danny didn't have the same fundamental belief in the basic goodness of all man…and therefore the same fundamental love of the human spirit that Danny bled through the blues of his dress uniform…didn't mean he had to put him down for how he felt about things.

Steve stopped in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. But there was something hanging on the fridge that hadn't been there when he'd left earlier. He was sure of it.

Two somethings hanging there, actually.

The first was a crayon drawing he knew from having seen ones at Danny's, was courtesy of young Artist Grace. The drawing was full of multi-colored fireworks in a midnight blue sky and a beach with sea green water. There was a little brunette girl in the water, head and shoulders sticking out above a low, curling wave. There was a blond man next to her, hands waving in the air, mouth wide open, and Steve belted out a quick laugh.

But the thing that sucker punched him in the gut was the tall, dark-haired man who was diving from the shallows of the beach into the water, headed right for where the little girl and blond man were. And on the butt of the dark-haired man's swimming trunks was a tiny, carefully-drawn seal.

Steve felt his hands shake and stuffed them into his shorts pockets even as a slow burn started prickling the backs of his eyes. To keep himself from losing it over a kid's drawing, his eyes moved to the drawing's right. What he saw printed there in what was unmistakably Danny's handwriting, made him stop breathing altogether.

Danny had written: _New Year's Resolution for 2012 – Be a family._ And then below it had added, _Number Two: Stop being such an idiot._

This time, Steve couldn't stop the burning in his eyes from turning into something wet that filled them. He grabbed his keys from the kitchen table and sprinted for his truck. He'd been an ass, and he knew it.

Suddenly, the world – and his view of it – looked a whole lot more optimistic than it had in twenty years.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 22<strong>

Don't over commit yourself. Leave time for him.

"Sorry, D, can't do it. I have to show up at the base for remedial training this weekend."

"Remedial? Do they not realize that every time you step outside your house and even sometimes when you're inside it, you're not only getting remedial training but you're showing the rest of us how to be irrational soldiers, too?"

"Da-a-annyy," Steve breathed through clenched teeth.

"Fine. Have fun with your ass-kicking."

Steve's brow furrowed as he watched Danny return to the Camaro, where he could see just enough of Grace's face to note the pout it took on, probably as soon as Danny told her Steve would not actually be joining them at the beach.

Steve sighed. Nothing he could really do about this one.

* * *

><p>"Mary's coming in from the airport, and I promised I'd take her out to dinner tonight so she could tell me her big news."<p>

Danny stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Okay," he said, but his eyes darted around the office and wouldn't meet Steve's. "Have fun."

As Danny turned to walk out and probably head home, Steve stood. "Well, you can come if you want."

"Um…" Danny hesitated for a fraction of a second. "No, that's okay. You need time with your sister." He turned and flashed Steve a grin that most definitely didn't meet his eyes. "You and I see way too much of each other anyway." And he was gone.

Steve swallowed. Given Danny's penchant for saying the exact opposite of what he was really thinking – at least, sometimes – he wondered which part of that last bit of conversation was the one he should be latching onto.

* * *

><p>"Shit, Danny, I'm sorry, really I am. But the governor is insisting that I have to meet him tonight at his office. I'm late as it is," Steve said, checking his watch.<p>

"Of course," Danny said with a seemingly nonchalant wave of his hand in Steve's direction. "Duty calls and all that."

He didn't tell him no problem. He didn't tell him it was okay. He didn't say, "See you later, partner." Danny didn't say anything else. He just left Steve's office and the palace.

Steve had to fight the urge to run after him like he was a girl he'd insulted or something. Why did he suddenly feel like he'd just let a fast ball whiz by him? Like that was his third strike? Like he was…out.

* * *

><p>One week went by. Days and nights on the job were the same.<p>

Then two weeks. Days and nights on the job? Still the same.

By the third week, though, Steve was feeling antsy, and like he'd been right in his assessment of things three weeks prior. Because Danny hadn't asked him to join him somewhere either alone or with Grace. He hadn't asked him over for beers, nor had he tried to wrangle an invitation to Steve's for the same.

Steve still felt comfortable around Danny, even when in the close quarters of the Camaro. They still bantered, fought, argued, whatever you wanted to call it depending on the heat of the words at any given moment. Comfortable, yes. But it seemed like something was missing all the same.

It was something Steve couldn't put his finger on no matter how much he thought about it. He just felt like there was a little tiny hollow space somewhere inside him that hadn't been there since Danny had charged into his dad's garage and he'd found himself at the wrong end of a cop's gun.

Huh.

On one of the rare occasions the week after that when Danny was actually driving his own car and Steve found himself in the passenger seat – and really, that was only because Danny had just pulled into Steve's driveway to pick him up at seven in the morning and they already needed to be somewhere so Steve just poured himself into the passenger side and told Danny to book it…Danno…yeah, he snorted at that – Steve took the opportunity to study the profile of Danny's face.

He didn't seem perturbed or even remotely pissed off. He didn't seem upset or unhappy. He didn't seem to be anything but focused on getting to their destination halfway around Oahu from Steve's place. All that calm determination and professionalism and Steve suddenly realized what it was he'd been missing for the better part of a month now. That little undefinable thing that sat like a tiny hollow in his chest? That was the _unprofessional_ side of Danny.

The _friend_ side.

The side of him that didn't rant so much as he blustered his way through uncomfortable or awkward moments. The side of him whose eyes crinkled, little lines protruding from the outside corners of them showing he was smiling even when his lips weren't upturned. The side of him that touched, constantly touched, in any given circumstance for reasons Steve wasn't even sure Danny was conscious of.

The friend side.

"Hey," Steve said, realizing he needed to be the one to make things right. Because there was only so much rejection one man could take – especially Danny, who'd faced the ultimate in rejections from Rachel – and yeah, Steve had been right about the whole three strikes thing.

"Mm?" Danny hummed, never taking his eyes from the road as the sirens on the Camaro blared, the lights flashed and he wove them in and out of Friday morning traffic.

"After this is over," Steve continued, flipping his hand into the air in a smallish (it was not lost on him) imitation of one of Danny's classic waves, "I'm going to pick up some steaks and veggies for the grill."

Danny turned his head briefly to look at Steve, then went back to watching the road as he narrowly avoided them getting T-boned in an intersection where the drivers hadn't been paying attention to the approaching sirens.

"So I thought." Steve kept going in spite of the weird prickly feeling he was starting to get on the back of his neck and, really, it's not like it was him asking some girl out on a date, so what the fuck? "I thought maybe you might like to join me."

He got an…interesting…look from his partner as Steve pointed to the exit they were supposed to take to get to where they were going. Danny raced along it, around the nearly hairpin curve, and started making his way through the four lanes of traffic the exit had deposited them onto.

"Steaks at your place, huh?" Danny asked. And then…and Steve suspected it had something to do with Danny simply not being able to help himself…he added, "Sure you haven't got anything else you should be doing?"

"Nope," Steve answered confidently, ignoring the slight bitchiness and accusatory tone. "I'm all yours this time, D."

"Fine," Danny replied, a hint of steel to his voice.

But the smile on his lips told Steve he'd done the right thing. He fought the urge to ask Danny how his mammal-to-mammal interaction skills were progressing. Then again, it might be a lot of fun to get Danny all riled up now that things were okay again…


	12. Ways 23 and 24

**Way 23**

Extend God's grace to him and be forgiving when he offends you.

Danny hadn't found himself gracing the interior of a Catholic church since he'd graduated high school. His mother, a devout Catholic herself, had insisted her children would be raised as Catholics. As a not-so-devout Jew, Danny's father acquiesced without too much kerfuffle over the matter, and so that had been that.

They'd all gone through catechism. They'd all had their confirmations and made their proper prayers to Mary and the saints and the angels and, of course, to Jesus and God. Danny had never really internalized it much, but he had never forgotten that time when his dad, the big, bad fireman that he was, had been hurt during a four-alarm fire just east of Weehawken.

After getting all four kids to the hospital at eleven o'clock at night, Danny's mother had discovered her husband was going to be in a hyperbaric chamber for at least twenty-four hours to try and keep the third and fourth degree burns he'd gotten from the waist down to his toes from becoming infected.

And while Danny as the eldest boy, though not the eldest child, had only been eight years old at the time, he'd understood enough about the atmosphere and the tears streaming down his mother's and his older sister Ruthie's face to know something was very, very wrong with Daddy. To maybe have the feeling he might not ever see Daddy again.

But their mother hadn't taken the kids straight home and put them to bed, then paced the floor all night long fraught with worry. No. She'd taken them to St. Lawrence Roman Catholic Church on Hackensack Avenue, their regular haunt every Saturday evening for mass and every Wednesday evening for catechism.

The night priest, as Danny liked to think of him, had been there. A handful of nuns were scattered throughout the ornate sanctuary. With its old bells in the belfry and the gigantic stained glass windows behind the gold-plated, ornate depiction of Saul on the Road to Damascus, it had never failed to awe little Danny when he stepped foot into the big room.

Nobody but the priests and nuns were there at a quarter to one in the morning. Mary Williams settled her four children into the front pew. Ruthie and Danny stayed awake, while Matty and Abby curled up head-to-head next to Ruthie's hip and fell asleep. Danny watched his mother move forward, sign the cross in front of her chest and kneel before the altar. Tears streamed down her face as she folded her hands into a tight knot of fingers and rested her elbows on the low wooden bar in front of her.

Danny squirmed. He never had been good at holding still, his mother often referring to him as her little Jewish-Catholic Jumping Bean. Religion had always been a staple in Mary Williams' life, but it hadn't been until this overnight visit to the Church that Danny had started maybe understanding why.

He remembered getting up even as Ruthie hissed at him to stay next to her. He'd walked slowly to where his mother knelt and had gone to his knees next to her after crossing over his chest like he'd been taught to. His little hands had clutched at each other until his fingers were white with the pressure and after a few moments he'd spoken.

He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he _needed_ to know.

"Will God and baby Jesus and the Virgin Mary save Daddy?" he whispered, blue eyes large and round as he stared into his mother's face.

"I honestly don't know," Mary had replied with a small smile, wiping tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her heavy winter coat. "But when you have no other hope, Daniel, it can't hurt to give God the chance to try."

And that was when little Daniel Williams had finally begun to understand something about faith. He hadn't kept up with his church-going after leaving home for the police academy, except to join his mother, father and siblings for certain special events like Christmas Mass, Easter Mass, Ash Wednesday or anything else his mother asked him to come to with her.

Now, twenty-seven years after the incident where his father almost burned to death but managed to eventually make a full – if not painful – recovery, Daniel Stephen Joseph Williams found himself in the sanctuary of the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace. A priest milled around, and even the Bishop of Honolulu was there for some reason. Danny didn't know the man on sight, but he recognized the reds within his clothing that set him apart from the rector.

Danny didn't really know why he'd come, other than those words of his mother's. Back then, they'd been about his father but now? Now they were about Danny's very own partner. Steve, much like Joe Williams, had been badly burned from the waist down when a stack of propane tanks in one of those goddamned dock warehouses had exploded under a hail of their suspects' bullets.

Just like when he was eight, all Danny could do right now was wait to see if Steve would make it. If his terrible, painful burns would become infected. If the months and months of physical therapy ahead of him, assuming he did survive, would get Steve back up to SEAL…and his own personal…standards.

This one had hit them all hard. Chin and Kono had sought comfort with each other at Kono's place. They'd invited Danny, but Danny had felt drawn instead to set foot into the unbelievably garish and ornate sanctuary where he now kneeled in front of the altar staring up at a statue depicting Christ on the cross.

He bowed his head. He didn't really know why he was there. But his mother's whispered words came back to him, and Danny spoke out loud for the first time since he'd walked through the sanctuary doors an hour before.

"My partner might die," he whispered into his forearms. "I know I'm not a good Catholic, but if you really are up there, please…" His voice trailed off, the thought of his cell phone ringing, of him getting word that Steve hadn't made it, making his throat close up.

He fought the one-two punch that felt like it'd hit his chest and stomach with that image and swallowed convulsively for a few moments hoping he wouldn't up and puke his first time back on his knees like this.

Finally, pushed forward only by the look on his mother's face so long ago…by the tears she'd unashamedly cried in front of her children…and by the miracle that had been Joe Williams' survival…Danny found a way to speak again.

"If you're really up there…if you really saved my father, then please…" Danny squeezed his eyes shut as his emotions raged. "Please don't let Steve die." He was even prepared to forgive Steve for every hare-brained stunt he'd ever pulled, as long as it meant he was still alive to pull more for a long, long time to come.

Danny wasn't sure how long he stayed there like that, silently willing every cell in Steve's body to live, willing God and Mary and Jesus and whatever saints might be listening in on his thoughts to keep his partner around for him. But when he finally made himself stand, and stretched slightly to work the stiffness out of his limbs, his mother's whispered words echoed inside his mind.

"_When you have no other hope, Daniel, it can't hurt to give God the chance to try."_

Danny's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the display. Fear clutched at his heart as he quickly moved out of the sanctuary into the bright Hawaiian afternoon sun. He answered the phone with just his last name.

The doctor's voice was strong and confident in his ear. And Danny really couldn't tell anyone later precisely what the doctor had said to him. Because the only words that stuck out in his mind, that replayed over and over like a mantra as he ran to the Camaro and gunned it with lights and sirens on to the hospital, were, "Your partner's going to be okay…"

Danny would never know whether his visit to the Cathedral of Our Lady of Peace had had anything to do with Steve's body miraculously deciding to start healing so fast it stunned every doctor in the Burn Unit. But once he'd seen for himself Steve's eyes wide open, Steve's pained smile and Steve's chest moving on its own with every breath he took, Danny knew he'd be calling his mother.

If for no other reason than to tell her that now he completely understood.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I don't usually do this with these '100 Ways' stories, but Way 23 begged for it, so Way 24 is now its sequel.<em>

**Way 24**

Find ways to show him you need him.

Steve hated being incapacitated.

But what he hated even more was having just enough mobility and use of his legs to shuffle from one room to another, but not enough to climb the stairs, go for a swim or even do the most basic of exercises.

He couldn't do anything at all without Danny and he fucking _hated_ it.

Danny didn't seem to mind one bit. He'd been nothing but attentive without hovering too much. Nothing but caring without making Steve feel like he was the same age as Gracie. Nothing but helpful without making it seem like Steve needed anything at all.

And yet, Steve _did_ need. He could barely shower on his own, although, at least they'd moved up the ladder from sponge baths. Talk about humiliating. He could barely get through making himself breakfast before the nerves on his legs were screaming so badly all he wanted to do was cut both of them off at the groin. And was it his imagination or had Danny started looking more and more haggard, the more that Steve allowed himself to wallow in the frustration of his predicament?

He sat back on the couch, legs uncomfortable but starting to feel a little better after the latest dose of nerve pain meds Danny had made him take. He watched as Danny moved around the living room straightening the end table Steve had purposely flipped onto its side in a fit of anger. Watched as Danny picked the books up from the floor that Steve had torn from the bookshelf and flung as far across the room as he could. Watched as Danny carefully set them back in place, alphabetized and all, like Steve's father had placed them many years ago.

And Steve started feeling bad that he'd made all this extra work for his partner…for his friend. Because Danny was heading up Five-0 until Steve was back at full-strength, and he was working like a dog on cases and paperwork and being the boss and trying to get the new recruit from HPD up to speed on how they did things and why.

But when Danny finally made it back to Steve's, sometimes more than fourteen hours after he'd left, he didn't sink into a chair on the lanai with a beer, nor did he plop down next to Steve on the couch. Even on the days and nights he had Grace, they never left Steve's place except to let Gracie play on the beach and in the calm water there…but Danny was forever tending to Steve's needs, forever keeping those watchful eyes on him to anticipate everything and follow through.

Danny was burning his candle at more ends than a candle had, and Steve felt foolish, ungrateful and like the biggest burden on the face of the Earth. But Danny had told him, after the first month of them pushing and pulling at each other once Steve had been allowed to come home, that "there's no place else I'd rather be than here making sure you don't blow your house up just because you're bored."

However, did that still hold true? Or was Danny tiring of what Steve admitted in the privacy of his own mind was nothing less than childish tantrum-throwing behavior? Steve stilled his finger where it had been drumming against his thigh and took a moment to really look at Detective Danny Williams…cop, task force leader, nurse, physical therapist stand-in…and best friend.

"Danny," Steve said, voice gruff. His partner stopped in mid-movement of picking up two more books off the floor. "Come here," Steve finished, gesturing with his hand.

Danny sighed, laid the two books on the nearest shelf and came to stand in front of Steve. "Pain worse?"

"No," Steve said, patting the couch next to him.

"What?"

"Sit down here with me."

Danny shook his head. "I have to make us dinner."

"Please?"

His uncharacteristic use of the word got Danny's attention, got him to sit down next to Steve even if it was just on the outer edge of the cushion.

"You're tense."

"Ya think?" Danny groused, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay.

He was ready to snap. Steve knew it. And he could only think of one way to tell Danny everything he knew he needed to hear, even though Steve couldn't quite bring himself to say the words.

Without a sound Steve leaned forward, ignoring the needle-prick sensations from the nerves up and down his legs, and enveloped his partner in a hug. He waited through Danny stiffening up, then seeming to slump forward a bit. He waited through Danny's sharp intake of breath and then his long, drawn-out sigh. He waited and could literally feel the tension seeping out of Danny's body. Feel every muscle slowly decide to relax. Feel his partner becoming less rigid and more pliable.

And he waited a few seconds after that to pull Danny toward him until they were both leaning against the back of the couch, arms still tightly wrapped around his partner. He waited until Danny finally squeezed an arm between Steve's back and the couch, and brought the other one to rest around Steve's ribs.

Then Steve waited two minutes more until Danny's breathing evened out, slowed and a very quiet snoring filled the air.

It was the least he could do, to let Danny know how much he needed him. And not just because of the burns.


	13. Ways 25 and 26

_Author's Note: This is (unexpectedly) a tag for the episode 'Loa Aloha.'_

**Way 25**

Give him time to be alone. (This energizes him to reconnect at other times.)

There was really nothing more that Steve wanted right now than to shut his truck off and follow Danny into his apartment.

But even though he was the one Danny had called to pick him up from the bar rather than trying to drive his Camaro home or even call a cab, Steve could sense that what Danny needed most right now was sleep, and as bad of a place as his best friend was in mentally, he was drunk enough that Steve gave Danny about ten seconds before he faceplanted onto his pull-out and went unconscious.

At some point the next morning, Danny would awaken with a hangover the size of a nuclear sub and would be needing aspirin, gallons of water and a shower. But tonight, since Danny had decided going to Rachel's and then drowning his sorrows at a local watering hole were his best options for dealing with Matt's criminal flight, Steve figured his role – aside from providing the safe ride home tonight – would come tomorrow in the form of cleaning up the mess Matt had left behind.

Steve had lied to the FBI. Danny had allowed his brother to escape Hawaii on a plane.

Steve had gone home, expecting Danny to show up at his house. Instead, Danny had sought comfort from his ex-wife and way too much whiskey, in that order.

It was okay by Steve, because tomorrow he was sure Danny would need way more than he'd needed tonight. Tomorrow, everything would start to sink in. Tomorrow, Danny would have to call his family in New Jersey. Tomorrow, Danny would look and feel like shit. Tomorrow, Danny would _need_ him.

And Steve would be there for him.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 26<strong>

Admit your mistakes; don't be afraid to be humble. Peel away your pride.

"Danny, I—" Steve felt like he was starting to fumble the most important pass of his life.

But Danny just flapped a hand at him, waving off whatever it was he didn't even know Steve was going to say.

Taking a deep breath, not about to be dissuaded by Danny's flippant dismissal, Steve opened his mouth again. "I made a mistake."

As expected, that little admission from Steve's lips got his partner's full attention.

"I'm sorry," Steve continued, eyes darting away to look at a spot that seemed to suddenly appear on the wall behind Danny's head.

Now was the time for a few insults, some jibes from the Jersey native about _Finally he admits he makes mistakes_ and _It's about time you learned to apologize without a prompt_ and maybe even _Fuck you, McGarrett_. Steve had steeled himself for this and much, much more on the drive over here this morning to do something that made him so uncomfortable his face and neck prickled with heat like thousands of tiny knives were stabbing merrily away.

He was more than just a little taken aback when Danny's face softened like it did when he looked at his daughter. He was a little more taken aback than that when Danny reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. He felt his muscles twitch under the heat of his partner's touch. And Steve was taken _completely_ aback when Danny smiled and said, "It's okay."

It's okay? Just like that? Steve couldn't help the deer-in-the-headlights look he knew was on his face.

Danny chuckled and patted Steve's arm before turning to head into his tiny kitchen. "But next time you think it's necessary to ward off a guy who's hitting on me like I'm the best thing he's ever seen, feel free to help me get rid of him without telling him I can't join _him_ because I'm with _you_."

Steve felt his face heat up even more and wondered how close to cherry red his skin actually was at this point. He cleared his throat, nodded once and replied in the most steady voice he could muster, "Will do, Danno."

Danny had been _so_ pissed off last night when Steve had done that without even thinking about it. Yet today, he seemed surprisingly okay with it. As much of an idiot as Steve felt like right now, though, given that Danny was no longer looking like he was ready to clean his partner's clock but good, Steve would count it as a win.

Although he had the sinking feeling, as an evil grin graced Danny's features while he waited for the pot of coffee to finish brewing, that he'd never be hearing the end of 'that one time in the bar.'


	14. Ways 27 and 28

_Author's Note: I must apologize to the Honolulu Police Department, as I'm always making their members out to be really mean to Five-0. No reflection on the real HPD officers – you're just a convenient plot device._

**Way 27**

Defend him to those who disrespectfully talk _about _him. Love protects

Steve isn't usually the one who stops in at HPD headquarters on South Beretania Street to chat with the boys in blue. Partially because they aren't particularly fond of him – which he could give a shit about, personally – but mostly because every single time he'd gone there alone, he'd gotten more than one strange remark out of more than one police officer. Not about himself. But about his partner.

He couldn't really understand it, because even if a cop's personality doesn't exactly mesh with his peers, the fact is that a good cop's a good cop. But then apparently, according to what he hears, being a good cop just isn't enough – at least, in Danny's case, and it's confusing to say the least. In the Navy, there were plenty of guys Steve didn't care for in terms of their personality off-hours. More than a few he would've love to deck. But when they were on the job, it was all-for-one and all that, trusting the guy who was a jerk to you the night before with your life and vice-versa.

Yeah, so Danny's a bit…vociferous. Strange, at least to Hawaiians. And he dresses funny…to Hawaiians. But he knows his shit. His procedure is flawless when he's not around Steve, and that thought causes Steve to snort in laughter. And Danny's mind, he's got one of those minds that just figures things out…makes leaps from one clue to the next. He grabs hold of information and stores it, chews on it, thinks about it until he's able to connect the dots.

Yet for all that thinking he's constantly doing, he's just as willing to jump into a firestorm when there's a perp to be caught or a life to be saved…or his partner's ass to cover. Steve couldn't have picked a better man, and he knows it. But then why these weird things out of fellow cops' mouths every single goddamn time, directed at such a good detective?

It's one of those things that puts his brain on a circuitous loop until he forces himself to stop thinking about it.

The first time he'd gone alone, it'd been because Danny had to pick Grace up from school that afternoon, and a couple officers were holding evidence from a crime scene Five-0 needed to get their hands on.

Steve remembers, as he stops at a red light, how the two male Hawaiian cops looked him up and down as though assessing the enemy. He repaid them by doing the same to both of them. And then the taller one had spoken.

"So."

Steve raised an eyebrow in question.

"You're the one who stole our _haole_ from us, huh?"

"Yes," had been Steve's curt response.

It had annoyed him to no end to hear that word used to describe his partner, never mind that he himself had called Danny that to his face on more than one occasion. Because the difference, at least to Steve, is clear: when he says it, it's like _Book 'em, Danno_. It's a term of endearment. When Officer Pelohi had said it, it sounded like the worst form of racial slur.

And then there was the second visit Steve had made, not three weeks after his first. This time it was to make contact with a Lieutenant Fong, who claimed to know someone who knew someone who was aware of a source who worked for someone under Wo Fat. Yeah, Steve knew it was a longer shot than throwing for a touchdown from your own end zone but he needed whatever he could get on his parents' case.

Danny had been up to his eyeballs in paperwork, so Steve had said he'd meet Fong alone. What a cluster that had turned out to be. Oh, he'd eventually gotten the intel, but as Steve stood before the Lieutenant's desk waiting for the guy to write down the information he had, he'd become acutely aware of eyes being on him.

He'd turned to find another cop – he could tell because of the guy's stance, not his plain clothes – leaning against the wall eyeballing him. "May I help you?" Steve had asked and hey, his interpersonal skills were just fine, thank you.

"You the one who chose the white boy over one of us, _brah_?"

_The white boy?_ Steve thought incredulously as he took in the man's dark and obviously mixed features. His skin was tanned enough for him to be generational Hawaiian, but his eyes slanted upwards at the outer corners too much for him not to also have Chinese in him.

"If you're referring to Detective Williams," Steve said evenly, hands clasped behind his back just to keep from throttling the jackass in front of him, "then yes, I _chose_ him."

_I chose you, didn't I?_

Steve fought to hide the smile those words made want to come forth. No reason to give Mr. Fuckhead any other reason to mock Danny.

"Don't think we don't know why," was all the guy said before walking away.

Steve didn't get a chance to follow him so he could ask what the _hell_ that had meant, because Fong now had all the info he needed written down. He absently thanked the Lieutenant, pocketed the piece of paper and puzzled over the words the rest of that day.

He's watching now as a class of new recruits marches along the sidewalk in front of HPD headquarters and is taken back to the third time he'd visited here, barely a month earlier.

That time, Danny and Kono had been on a stakeout on the western side of Oahu just off Farrington Highway. Chin was keeping tabs on everything electronically from Five-0's bullpen, and the chief of police in Honolulu wanted to give Steve something which he said could only be handed over in person. So Steve, having no idea what exactly he was walking into, had gone to wait not-so-patiently in the chief's office while a young officer had gone to find the man.

"Here," Chief Keahi had said as he walked into his office. In his outstretched hand was a brown file folder.

Steve took it and flipped it open, surprised to find it was a file on his partner. He frowned a bit as he flipped through the pages. It looked like a standard personnel file, which Steve had had a copy of before the first week of Five-0's existence was out. He remembered Governor Jameson telling him that technically Danny still worked for HPD, as it was the only way the chief at that time would allow him to be seconded to Five-0, so they would keep the personnel file.

"Don't you need to keep this?" Steve asked as this chief, who'd only been in place for five months, seated himself at his desk.

"No reason to," Keahi replied, spreading his hands before him. "He's obviously staying with Five-0 and not coming back here, which is just fine with us."

_Just fine with us?_ Steve wondered what the hell that meant, and he was getting close to being sick and tired of hearing something slanted negative about Danny every single time.

"I'm sorry, what do you mean he's not coming back here? Danny's been with HPD ever since he landed in Hawaii nineteen months ago."

Keahi leveled his eyes at Steve and replied in a perfectly neutral tone. "He's never been with HPD, _brah_. You know it, I know it, Williams knows it and every officer on this island knows it."

Feeling his anger beginning to rise, Steve just nodded curtly. His next stop was going to be the governor's office, because how was it Danny had apparently been let go from HPD and transferred to…what, Five-0 had its own business model or something now? Steve wondered if Chin and Kono were still on HPD's payroll or not and he could tell Keahi wasn't going to give him anything else. Plus he might hit the guy if he stayed to ask.

That visit with the governor, Steve now remembered as he shut his truck's engine off, had gone pretty well, all things considered. Yes, Five-0 was its own entity now. No, the leader of the task force hadn't yet been told because they were still working at getting Kono and Chin transferred over with all the red tape and paperwork that entailed, but Steve now had to handle everything himself rather than counting on the HPD financial and personnel whizzes to do so.

Which had been fine, but Keahi's words still bugged the hell out of Steve.

So here he is again, striding into HPD headquarters. When he asks where to find Detective Mako, he's told the guy's in the small cafeteria near the back of the building. Steve finds himself hoping he can get out of here today without hearing yet another thing that makes his will to not punch a police officer almost impossible to keep in place.

He reaches the entrance to the café and stops just inside to scan the room for his target. Mako's barely out of the academy, but it's yet another case of the guy knowing a guy back in Japan, who knew a guy that worked for a guy who worked for Wo Fat and in spite of it being yet another long shot, Steve takes whatever he can get when it comes to getting rid of Wo Fat once and for all.

His entrance hasn't gone unnoticed by those closest to the door, and Steve's pretty damn sure the next words he hears are purposely spoken loud enough to reach him.

"That _haole's_ boyfriend is here again."

"You'd think they'd leave us the hell alone now that they're all that."

"They still need us, in spite of what they think."

"I'm just glad Williams doesn't show up anymore. What a fucking pain-in-the-ass."

Steve's blood starts rushing through his veins, drowning out any further words as it freight-trains through his ears. Overall? The comments aren't that bad. But this has been building over time, a slow burn that's just gotten to the point where Steve is no longer willing to ignore it. Why their opinion of Danny is so bad, he still hasn't figured out. But he'll be goddamned if he's going to listen to any more of their shit. It ends _now_.

In two long strides he's standing with his thighs pressed up against the table holding four officers in uniform, guns and all. His arms are crossed over his chest, his stance resembling parade rest, biceps flexing as his hands open and close over and over again against his ribs.

"Gentlemen," Steve says, and he's perfectly aware of the foreboding tone he's got. He knows tones, after all. They all look up at him, contempt in their eyes.

"McGarrett," one of the officers says with a wary nod. The other three don't speak.

Steve turns around and grabs an empty chair, drags it over with its back toward the table and in one smooth move has seated himself facing them, arms resting on the thin plastic chair back. He looks at each officer in turn, fully aware that everyone in the café is staring at the scene he's just about to create.

"I don't believe any of you have ever been introduced to me. I'm Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett, United States Navy SEAL, Reserves. I am also," he says a little louder when one of the officers appears ready to bolt, "the head of the Five-0 task force you've undoubtedly heard of."

No one says anything. Steve knows he's speaking loud enough for all present to hear. He even hears some more cops shuffling up to the cafeteria doorway to listen, and grins in a way he knows isn't friendly.

"Now every time I visit your beautiful headquarters here," he says, sickeningly sweet, "I wonder what it was like for those six months my partner was here before I picked him, out of every single officer on the island, to_ be _my partner."

One of the officers swallows hard. Steve can't help but make his grin look even more evil.

"Because you know, I'm fully aware of the fact that my partner is different from Hawaiians, but you see, that's why I picked him. Because I would wager, for example, that you," he says to a large officer seated to his right, "probably have Samoan blood in you and so how was I to know whether or not you or anyone in your family would have ties to Samoan gangs on the island?"

The officer looks like he wants to deck McGarrett, but Steve ignores him to look at the Japanese officer across from him. "And you, I mean, I could've picked you over the man I picked, but really, how was I to know you didn't have ties to the Yakuza one way or another?"

The Japanese officer's jaw drops in disbelief. Steve turns his attention to the other two seated near him, both Hawaiians. "And you two, well, I'm sure you're fine policemen but the fact of the matter is, I don't know whether you have contacts around here that you might give information to. Warnings, when things are about to go down. So in the end," he says, splaying his hands out in front of him, "the fact of the matter is that anyone who's been in Hawaii for any length of time had to be suspect in my book."

The room is deathly silent, because Steve has basically just insulted each and every person in it. He stands, eyes meeting those of each and every one of those people. He puts the chair back and glances toward the door, where a good dozen more officers are huddled. Many faces are angry. Many are agog. Many eyes aren't even looking up, preferring the floor instead of Steve's steely gaze.

"Now what I want you all to remember," Steve finally says, turning in a slow circle to make sure they all know he means to address every single one of them, "is how you feel _right now_. How you feel when I make generalizations about you because of how you look, or where you're from, or how long you've been here."

Most of the eyes snap up to him because this isn't what they're expecting. He can't help the smug smile he gets.

"There isn't a single one of you in this building who's a better cop than my partner," Steve continues and shit, is he glad Danny's not actually here, because it's a little embarrassing to compliment the guy so openly. "The man I chose to head this task force with me thirteen months ago is the man who picked up and left _everything_ he'd ever known, including more family than most of you can even dream of, to follow his daughter to a place he'd never even visited, five _thousand_ miles away from the only home he'd ever known. I challenge _any_ of you to be a better man than that."

And yeah, Steve knows there are female officers present, but he's from the male-dominated military, so sue him. "I think if you still want to gossip about, and slander, my partner, you'd better get his name right and use it every time. It's Detective Danny Williams, Five-0 task force, and if any of you have any problems with him? You come to _me_," he finishes, jabbing a thumb into his chest.

Steve never does find out which officer is Mako. So he never gets the name of whoever Mako thought might be important and connected to Wo Fat. But Steve could care less, because as he walks out of HPD, gets into his truck and starts it, he feels damn _good_. The only other people he's _ever_ wanted to defend like that, are also members of Five-0. And speaking up in defense of your partner, basically telling everyone to go to hell if they don't like it or him, makes endorphins race through his body like he hasn't ever before experienced.

When his phone beeps as he's heading out of the parking lot, he chances a look at it. It's a text from Danny, and it makes Steve laugh so hard he has to stop driving long enough to wipe the tears from his eyes so he can see the road.

"Why," the text says, not a misspelling in sight, "did Officer Lani just inform me I owe you two dozen red roses?"

Steve guffaws all the way to the palace.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 28<strong>

Respect his desire to do well—not his performance

"Babe," Danny says, hands out in front of him like he's trying not to spook a thoroughbred horse, "it's okay. Really."

"But I fucked up," Steve says and Christ, if he doesn't sound like a pouting ten-year old.

"No, you didn't fuck up, you just…didn't quite get it right."

"I wanted to do this for her."

"I know you did, Steve, I know. And it's a good…try." Steve looks at him doubtfully, so Danny adds, "Really, it is."

Both pairs of eyes move to the puddle of brownish-yellowish goo that's sitting inside the metal rectangular cake pan. It'd been baking in the oven for an hour but still resembled ungelled pudding mix more than a cake.

"Shit," Steve breathes and yeah, that's definitely a pout.

Danny's grin displays as many teeth as possible when he holds out a plastic bag. He opens it enough that Steve can lean forward and see it contains a boxed cake mix and a tub of frosting in Gracie's favorite flavor: chocolate.

"How did you know I wouldn't be able to get her birthday cake right from scratch?" Steve asks, pout lifting a little.

Danny's grin gets impossibly wider as he shrugs, picks up the ruined not-quite-cake in its shiny silver pan and dumps the goo unceremoniously down the garbage disposal. When he says, "What can I say? I'm the backup," and there isn't a sound from behind him, he has to turn to find out why.

Steve's doing everything he can not to laugh, but when Danny winks at him, he loses the battle. "You're the backup," Steve pants, clutching his stomach and very nearly giggling rather than laughing. "Oh, Christ!"

They do eventually get the birthday cake made for Grace, and manage to write Happy Birthday in both Hawaiian and English, in pink. They even get all ten multicolored candles to stand upright. But how they do so in amongst chuckles and gales of laughter, neither can really say.

Doesn't matter, because Grace loves it. And Steve? Is forever forbidden from _ever_ trying to bake again.


	15. Ways 29 and 30

**Way 29**

Rub his feet or neck, or scratch his back after a hard day.

"I…just want…to die."

"Danny?"

Some sort of sound that can only be described as a mixture of a groan, a mumble and possibly a snort is the only answer Steve gets from the man lying face-down on the couch.

There's a moment of silence after that in which only the hum of the bullpen computers and the quiet drip-drip-drip from the faucet in their small kitchen area can be heard. Drip-drip-drip as Steve stands in Danny's office and watches his partner's back, the slow rise and fall of it as Danny breathes in…and out…in…and out.

Steve's never realized how soothing their office is.

Danny's left foot jerks once and he lets out a whispered noise that Steve can't quite identify. Then a muscle in his back twitches, easy to see through the thin cotton that stretches so tightly across it. That gets a low moan out of Danny like he's actually in pain and Steve wonders if the tumble down the nearly vertical hill they both took hurt his partner more than Danny had let on.

Then Danny shoves himself up onto his elbows enough to roll his head and twist it to the right. Steve hears a loud _POP!_ – which actually makes him flinch – and then when Danny gives his head a quick twist to the left, this time he gets a _CRACK!_

"So your feet hurt, your back hurts and your neck hurts," Steve sums up, but his voice is barely a whisper in the stillness surrounding them.

"Wrong on one count," Danny mumbles into his forearms as his head goes back down. "Back just itches. Goddamn sand."

Steve can't help but smile. Tired, sore and still bitching. That's Danny, all right.

Quietly flowing from his full height down to his knees near Danny's legs, Steve slowly unties his partner's shoes and slips them off his feet one at a time. The quiet _snick-swish_ of it fills Steve's ears like a marching band he's gotten too close to.

He reaches up beneath the hem of Danny's dirty and torn dress pants and pulls one black sock noiselessly off, then goes to the opposite leg and does the same. The odor of dirty, tired, sweaty, worn-out feet assaults his nose but hey, Steve's used to bunking shoulder-to-shoulder with a dozen other men who have dirty, tired, sweaty, worn-out feet that have the added fortune of them having been baking for a good week longer than Danny's have.

So no big deal there.

Absently his left hand reaches up to the spot just to the left of Danny's spine and midway down where the twitch originated. His fingers curl and the sound of his nails sliding against Danny's dress shirt vibrates through his arm as the fabric rakes across his fingertips. He listens to that for a moment, moving his hand first side-to-side and then in circles as a tiny, short hum is released from Danny's throat.

"Tilt your head forward," Steve says softly, a little surprised when Danny does so without question. His hand leaves his partner's back and makes its way to Danny's left shoulder, while Steve's right hand gets around Danny's other shoulder. When he squeezes for the first time, it doesn't make a sound, but Danny makes up for that with a low groan that makes Steve smile.

He's been told more than once by different people all over the globe how good he is at giving massages. His eyes dart to the right, looking at Danny's feet again even as his thumbs dig into Danny's trapezius muscles. Well, he doesn't mind scratching Danny's back or even giving him a neck massage. Especially since, though he'd never admit it to Danny, he feels responsible for the fact that they'd fallen down the hill to begin with.

No, he doesn't mind helping out at all. He knows Danny would do the same for him if he was hurting. He is having second thoughts about those smelly feet, though…

* * *

><p><strong>Way 30<strong>

Take time for the two of you to sit and talk calmly (schedule it when necessary).

"What is this?"

"What's what?"

"This invitation in my inbox."

"I sent you that."

"Yes, Danny. I see it says it's from Detective Daniel Williams. I figured that one out."

"Do you really want me to dignify—?"

"No. What I _want_, is for you to tell me why you sent me an invitation for my Microsoft Outlook calendar entitled 'You and Me' that recurs once a week, every Sunday afternoon, for five hours?"

"So you'd show up."

"Danny, the location is 'Mi Casa Es Su Casa' with the words 'McGarrett's Casa' in parentheses after that. I'm not going to show up at my own house?"

"While I am astounded by your ability to read, I will not react to you doing so when you know perfectly well I'm the one who created the invitation and therefore do not need it read back to me. What I_ do_ need is for you to accept the invitation in question."

"But what's the purpose of this? You just want my steak and my beer, is that it?"

"No. Steven. That is _not_. It's not it."

"Then what's this about? It's not like you don't show up at my place every Sunday afternoon we have free anyway."

"It's about making sure we have calm time that will actually happen every week without fail. It's about making sure you do _not_ decide to take on a case on Friday night which will interfere with said calm, relaxing, Su Casa time."

"So this is your way of making sure your boss gives you Sunday off."

"And takes it off himself. Yes. Now you're catching on. You're a bright boy for a SEAL."

"Up yours."

"And the calm thing, that's very important. So we can…discuss."

"Discuss what? We can discuss here, we discuss in the car all the time."

"No. No, no, that's work and that's arguing, that's not discussing. This is for calm discussion."

…

…

"This is one of those things from the marriage counseling you went through with Rachel isn't it?"

…

…

"Up yours, McGarrett."

"Hey, Danny, you don't have to leave…oh, hell."

…

…

_CLICK!_

…

…

"You're back."

"Yep. And since you accepted the invitation, I'm going to hold you to it."

"But—"

"Every single Sunday afternoon."

"But what if we-?"

"Every. Single. One."

"_Fine_."

"Fine."

…

…

"Fine."


	16. Ways 31 and 32

**Way 31**

Initiate going out on romantic outings (when he's not tired).

"I can do romance, Danny."

Danny snorts in disbelief.

"Just ask Cath. Hibachi on my private beach, wine, that sort of thing."

"I am _not_, and I repeat _not_, going to ask your girlfriend if you can do romance. She's liable to get the wrong idea."

Steve shrugs. "Why do you think I can't do romance?"

"Because, Steven, in my mind your idea of a romantic time probably involves multiple explosions, bullets whizzing past your date's head and flying tackles, not to mention getting your date shot. Or, at least, shot _at_."

Steve does everything in his power to bite back the huge grin threatening to get out. Eventually he manages not to snicker, snort or even smile when he says, "So what you're saying is, every time you and I go out in the field, I'm being _your_ idea of romantic."

Danny opens his mouth. Then he shuts it. Then he opens it again, face flushing red and Steve bites his lip hard enough to draw blood just trying to keep from bursting into what his sister would've called 'man-giggles.'

"You, my friend, you could _only_ date someone who does the same type of crazy shit as you do for a living because you? Estas loco en la cabeza." He makes a twirling motion with his index finger near his temple.

Steve's eyebrows go up. "You speak Spanish?"

"Enough to tell you you're insane."

"Just for the record? I don't think bullets and explosions are romantic. I prefer love songs, candlelight and good wine."

"I know all about your taste in music, my friend." Danny stops, looks out the windshield a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "So you're not wooing me by putting my life in danger every single day we're together."

Steve cannot help but grin this time. "Woo, Danny? Seriously? Who does that anymore?"

"I will have you know that in New Jersey, we still woo. We woo very well indeed and my mother will tell you about all the wooing that goes on there."

The grin has become a broad, wide smile. "No, Danny. Not wooing." He glances across the front seat at his partner. "You tired?"

"Tired?" Danny repeats, a strange look on his face. "Not…really, no. Why?"

"Dinner's on me," Steve says, taking the next corner nice and smooth.

Danny stays quiet for a long moment. Then he says, "Fine. But no candlelight, McGarrett."

"Okay. Wine it is, then."

Danny gives him a narrow-eyed look, lips pursed into a thin line.

Steve isn't going to tell him the place they're going has Tiki torches. It would just start a whole new rant about whether or not they're the same things as candles...

* * *

><p><strong>Way 32<strong>

Email him when he's at work, telling him how much you love him.

To: Danno  
>From: Steve<br>Subject: Howzit?

Hey –  
>How's it going there today?<br>My finger hurts.  
>-S.<p>

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Re: Howzit?<p>

Only you would be complaining about your finger when you have four cracked ribs, a broken foot and rope burn in unmentionable places. You are not right in the head, McGarrett.  
>It's going fine, because you are not here to get me killed.<br>-D

* * *

><p>To: Danno<br>From: Steve  
>Subject: Re: Howzit?<p>

That's not very nice, D. My finger's the only thing that hurts right now.  
>-S.<p>

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Re: Howzit?<p>

Then stop flipping me off.  
>-D<p>

* * *

><p>To: Danno<br>From: Steve  
>Subject: Re: Howzit?<p>

You're not even here. How can I flip you off long-distance?  
>-S.<p>

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Re: Howzit?<p>

It's the thought that counts. And stop pouting.  
>-D<p>

* * *

><p>To: Danno<br>From: Steve  
>Subject: Re: Howzit?<p>

I am not pouting, _Daniel_. I am going through great physical pain to send you an email – _that_ is why my finger's the only thing that hurts – to see how you're doing in my absence because I'm your boss and I'm a good friend and all you can do is—you know what? Never mind! Have a good day.

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Re: Howzit?<p>

Steve?

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

Steven?

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

Come on, I was kidding.

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Fwd: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

Steve?

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Fwd: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

Sorry. You know me and my mouth.

* * *

><p>To: Danno<br>From: Steve  
>Subject: Re: Fwd: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

And your fingers.  
>Bring me lunch?<br>-S.

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Re: Fwd: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

You said that with a smirk.  
>Yeah, sure, I can bring lunch.<br>Now stop hurting your finger. Your ass better be reclining on that couch dozing by the time I get there.  
>You're worse than my daughter sometimes, you know that?<br>She emails me, too. Usually they're more along the lines of "Love you, Danno," than this little exchange.  
>-D<p>

* * *

><p>To: Danno<br>From: Steve  
>Subject: Re: Fwd: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

Love you, Danno.  
>-S.<p>

* * *

><p>To: Steve<br>From: Danno  
>Subject: Re: Fwd: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

Your food will be poisoned. Fair warning.  
>-D<p>

* * *

><p>To: Danno<br>From: Steve  
>Subject: Re: Fwd: Re: Fwd: Re: Howzit?<p>

:-)


	17. Ways 33 and 34

**Way 33**

Surprise him with a fun gift of some kind that he'd really enjoy.

Steve didn't really look like the Steve Danny knew. Well, not the one from the last six years or so. No, right now he looked like the one Danny had first met in the McGarrett garage six-and-a-half years ago.

His eyes were hard and his mouth was drawn into a tight line. Danny knew it was just Steve getting back into SEAL headspace, but it was more than a little disconcerting to see this rigid – and Danny would admit to Steve looking more than just a little frightening right now – man who was currently zipping up his black duffel bag.

When Steve's eyes met his across the expanse of the bed made with military-like precision, there was nothing but resignation in pale blue eyes and steely determination in hazel ones which, thanks to the olive drabs Steve was wearing, erred more on the side of green than blue in the early morning light.

"I'll let Chin and Kono know," Danny said, voice steady. After all, this was the fourth time in those six-and-a-half years that Steve had been activated for a mission…not anything new to the team.

The first time, two years after the formation of Five-0, had seen Steve come back with a laceration on his left forearm that left a noticeable scar. He'd only been gone two weeks.

The second had been three years ago, when Steve was gone for nearly five months. He'd returned with no visible damage, but hisses every time he moved wrong told Danny that Steve had probably cracked a rib or two.

The third time, their task force leader had been spirited away in the middle of the night. The code NSR – Navy SEAL Reactivated, as they'd agreed to long ago – from Steve at three-ten in the morning had been Danny's only clue that McGarrett hadn't been kidnapped or something worse. Four months had gone by. He'd been returned to them in good enough working order, but with fresh stitches along the nape of his neck, where his hair had been shaved up two inches from its normal line to perform whatever surgery had been performed.

All of Five-0, which now sported Chin, Kono, Lori and two new HPD recruits, Tem and Loki, knew better than to ask any questions. Steve could never divulge anyway, and Danny had made that clear to the newbies from Day One.

The fourth time was now. Once again, Steve was being called away to do his duty for his country. At least this time he'd been given a few hours before he had to be at some airstrip. He couldn't even tell Danny which one. He'd texted NSR to Danny, and at four-thirty in the morning, Danny had shown up at McGarrett's door.

Steve held his partner's gaze for a moment before nodding once at the words Danny had uttered what seemed like a lifetime ago. He wasn't the head of Five-0 right now. He was a highly trained killing machine, and Danny suspected more often than not he was going on solo missions. Going in alone, without Danny there to back him up and maybe out there in the jungles or deserts or wherever he got up to whatever he got up to, that was okay.

It didn't stop Danny from worrying about him, though he'd never given it voice. The way Steve was in Hawaii, Danny couldn't let himself think about Steve being that way out there somewhere in the vast expanse of the globe setting off bombs, getting shot at, breaking into places full of people who wanted to kill him. That was the pathway that would lead to complete insanity.

And Danny couldn't afford that, because when Steve was away, he became the de facto head of Five-0 complete with a two-level pay grade increase and matching title. And he kicked ass at it, he knew. It was what kept him grounded, knowing he had to give the task force back to McGarrett in the same shape he'd left it. It gave him something to focus on besides the fact that he was minus a partner, minus a boss and minus his best friend.

No one could know how long Steve would be gone this time. Hell, it was possible Steve himself didn't know. Danny watched as his friend shouldered the duffel, came around the edge of the bed and stopped right next to him still facing the opposite direction. Not looking at Danny, but not moving away.

Danny took a deep breath and stuffed something small into one of the many pockets on Steve's SEAL jacket. Steve frowned a little, finally looking at Danny as he pulled the three-by-three object from his pocket. It wasn't even half an inch thick.

Steve pressed his thumb against a small button which was embedded within a drab silver frame. Inside the frame, a tiny screen came to life. It was a miniature digital photo album. Danny peered into Steve's hand as the slideshow went through its paces.

A photo of Oahu taken from the air, encompassing the entire island.

Another of the beach – of Kono riding a monster wave, which Chin had shot three weeks earlier at North Shore.

A third of Chin last Christmas holding up the latest-and-greatest iPad Steve had given him with a huge grin on his face.

Lori, looking oddly shy and yet quite happy, gazed out of the next photo. She was in the water with two dolphins after having finally been convinced to try the Hawaiian dolphin experience by both Steve and Danny. Her eyes were sparkling like a small child's.

The next picture was of Danny's first Camaro, taken by Danny once to show Steve how filthy it got every time he decided to drive it on one of those red dirt roads that to this day Danny refused to call actual roads. The Camaro itself had eventually been totaled during a high speed chase, leaving Steve and Danny in the hospital for weeks. He had a new one now, but the old one would always be the best, to both of them.

The final photo was one Danny had gotten Rachel to take just last week at Grace's very first school dance. Danny was dressed to the nines in a full tuxedo…of course he had to chaperone because there were _boys_, for God's sake…and a now-fifteen-year-old Grace, wearing a flowing pale yellow and sky blue gown, was dancing with him.

It had been their first real father-daughter dance, at least in public. When Danny had shown the photo to Steve, it had made Steve's eyes melt warmly, and little lines that had just started appearing at the corners of those eyes, crinkle with the smile that lit his face. Danny remembered Steve saying, "She's beautiful, Danny."

Yeah. His not-so-little growing-up girl _was_ beautiful. And now Steve had his home…and his _ohana_…to take with him to wherever it was he ended up going. When Danny's eyes met his partner's, he saw that warm look again and the crinkling of the eyes, even though Steve withheld the smile. That was all he needed, to know this had been the best thing he could send with Steve.

There was a loud honking from the driveway. His partner's ride had arrived. Steve stuffed the digital photo frame into a pants pocket and closed the Velcro tight so it wouldn't fall out. Then he clasped a hand to Danny's shoulder, squeezed, and was gone.

Danny felt his gut twist a little. It was never easy when the SEAL left. Never easy to wait for the McGarrett he knew to come home. At least this time, Danny knew Steve wasn't going out there alone.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Written before the Season 2 opener (even though posted after), so assumes canon only through end of Season 1. Anything beyond that came from my imagination and may (or may not be) AU.<em>

_**Updated Note**__: Interestingly enough, after watching Season 2 Episode 1 "Ha'i'ole," it turns out some of what I wrote is what they actually did and some isn't. So I'll warn you some of this is spoiler-y for the Season 2 premiere, although I won't say which parts just in case you haven't seen it!_

**Way 34**

Express how much you appreciate him for working so hard to support the family.

Danny had given up everything.

He'd given up a second chance with Rachel.

He'd given up being with Grace as much as he'd been able to when she was living in Hawaii.

He'd given up being there for the pregnancy and birth of a second child.

Back before Steve had met him, he'd given Rachel up in a messy divorce.

He'd given up living with his precious daughter.

He'd given up being close to his entire family.

He'd given up New Jersey.

And now?

Danny had given up being an officer of the law when he'd refused to stop trying to help clear Steve's name, and the ultimatum had been, "It's McGarrett or your badge."

Chin had revealed that to Steve.

Danny had given up his apartment, no longer able to afford rent on top of the child support he paid for Grace and the expense of buying things for the new baby growing in his ex-wife's womb.

He'd given up, after a few months, the idea of having a precious second child, once Rachel had revealed she was too far along for it to be Danny's baby after all. The devastated look in his eyes when he'd told Kono, she had relayed to Steve during one of her visits to Halawa.

Then Danny had given up Rachel again, after she'd decided that as much as she loved him, she truly loved Stan, and the fact that she was having Stan's baby and that Stan wanted her and Grace to 'come home' made Rachel decide the most she and Danny would ever do again was say hello as they exchanged Grace for visitation.

So Danny had given up everything in his life that had ever made him Danny to begin with – except for what had shaped him into the doting, overprotective, loving father he'd become upon Grace's birth. That was one thing Danny still had.

But the rest of it? He'd given it all up for Chin…who needed help from the outside even as he worked hard to clear Steve from inside HPD.

He'd given it all up to get his hands – in a rather shady way – on evidence that got Kono out of the IA investigation scot-free.

He'd given it all up to collaborate with the likes of Kamekona, Toast, a member of the freakin' Yakuza and mob leader back in Jersey who 'knew people'…all to get every shred of proof that Wo Fat had murdered Jameson and not Steve, into the hands of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser.

The reporter had written an article that spanned an entire week's worth of front pages plus two more inside.

The new governor and HPD had had no choice but to concede the facts.

Steve had been cleared and set free.

And now here sat his one-time partner in the aftermath of their _ohana's_ celebration of Steve's release. Here he sat on Steve's couch with no home of his own – he'd been crashing at various places around Oahu including Chin's, Kono's and Kamekona's – no job, no income. And Steve wondered how much of his sense of self Danny had managed to hang on to through the roller coaster of the past seven months.

By contrast, Steve had fared pretty well in prison, getting beat up a couple times and shanked once notwithstanding.

So now the surprise he hadn't yet sprung on Chin and Kono…one item in particular burning a hole in Steve's pocket. It was time to let Danny in on it, and then together they would visit the cousins tomorrow and tell them. But tonight, here, now…it was Steve's gift to the man who'd stuck by every family member he'd ever had. From his brother Matt, still on the run, to his wife-and-then-ex-wife…from his daughter to the non-blood relatives that were his _ohana_ these days.

Danny deserved this, and both Chin and Kono would understand why Steve had revealed it to him first, in private.

He sat down on the couch next to Danny, whose elbows rested on his thighs. Danny looked up and smiled at him, but while he seemed happy enough because Steve was there rather than still in jail, there was a hollowness in his eyes. Steve could only hope the next few moments would erase that…or at least, start to.

Without a word he reached into one of the pockets on his cargo pants, the sound of Velcro seeming loud in the living room. He pulled something out, took Danny's hand and turned it over so it was palm-up. He placed the cold, metal object backed by cool black leather into Danny's hand and curled his friend's fingers over it.

Danny looked down. His face bore a look of confusion first, then disbelief. Then he looked wild-eyed at Steve before returning his gaze to the golds and blues of the badge in his hand. He squeezed it, turning his fingers white with the force of it. His eyes closed, squeezing as tightly shut as his fingers were around the thing that said he was an investigator with Five-0 for the State of Hawaii.

Many silent moments passed. Steve resisted the urge to fidget. He had to wait Danny out, see if this would help rebuild him. And so he waited as the tension in Danny's shoulders decreased. As he let out a long sigh. As his fingers loosed their death grip on the badge.

And when Danny's eyes opened, they were full of unshed tears. But the hollowness that had made Steve's stomach hurt from the moment they'd been reunited outside Halawa had disappeared.

Steve gave him a small smile, then laughed out loud when Danny launched himself at him, wrapping his arms around him in the biggest hug Steve thought he'd ever gotten from someone other than his sister.

His arms came around Danny's back, alternately patting it and just holding on for dear life. He was free. And Danny would be the old Danny again in no time. Because as much wrangling – and the making of promises Steve had once sworn to himself he'd never make – as it had taken to revive Five-0, this giving back to Danny for everything he'd done for _all_ who were considered family by him? This was worth every single bit of it, even if he _would_ have to actually follow police procedure more this time around.

It was the least he could do. After all, Danny had given up way too much in his life already. Steve vowed his partner would never have to give anything else up ever again.


	18. Ways 35 and 36

_Author's Note: Way 35 occurs after the events of Season 2 Episode 1 "Ha'i'ole." So if you have not yet seen the Season 2 premiere, __**this does contain significant spoilers**__. There are also spoilers for Season 1 Episode 24 "Oia'i'o" (the Season 1 finale). You have been warned._

**Way 35**

Tell him how proud you are of him for who he is (giving him specific reasons).

Danny was prickly.

Well, more prickly than usual.

Steve sighed as he walked through the front door of his house, his partner banging his way through its length to the lanai doors. Nothing about Danny was quiet, really. Not usually.

Except when they'd been in Max's car together.

His eyes had spoken volumes even before his voice explained the situation.

Steve hadn't been able to do anything but stare at him for a minute because in all the time he'd known his partner, he'd _never_ seen _that look_ in Danny Williams' eyes.

And Steve didn't know what to do with it.

At all.

Like…at all.

He was the one who'd been oh-so-kindly shanked by the guy who killed his dad. The bastard who was now dead.

Steve was convinced he had Wo Fat to thank for that.

He was the one who'd nearly bled out finding his way to the safety of Max's apartment and then collapsing on his bathroom floor.

Thank fuck Max's roommate hadn't been home. Christ.

And yet Steve wasn't the one bleeding out now. He knew, as he rummaged in the fridge and found two beers – not their usual brand, but ones Cath had once brought with her from Thailand – that Danny was the one bleeding profusely right now.

From the mind.

From the heart.

From the soul.

He bit his lip and took a deep breath. Words? Not his strong suit. And truthfully, as many of them as Danny could get out of his mouth in one breath, most times it was filler. Fluff. Misdirection. Sure, they were friends. But the unveiled pain and honesty in Danny's voice, loudly punctuated by the raw, low tone he'd used when telling Steve about Rachel, and the baby, and Stan…this wasn't a tone or a look or even the level of sharing he was used to with Danny.

They just…didn't. It wasn't their thing. Steve had heard a similar note in his own voice the night he'd been arrested, when he'd called out Danny's name. He thought back as he stood just inside the doors watching his partner's slumped form stare out across the black ocean hidden by the dark of night.

When Danny's name had come tearing from his throat, he could admit to himself he'd been scared shitless. He'd felt…confused. Desperate. Regretful. Alone. Or at least, scared of being alone. But most of all, he reflected, he'd felt ashamed.

He'd gone and done what Danny had told him not to. He'd allowed himself to be lured into a trap and set up. He'd allowed himself to peel away from his _ohana_, to be separated from the pack and taken down just like _that_. He'd let himself down, let his father down. Most of all, he'd let his team down. At that precise moment, Steve remembered feeling nothing but pain.

Not from the taser to his neck.

But from what he'd done to himself and his closest friends. And what had been done to him.

Danny's body language spoke volumes where Danny, for a change, did not. Steve made his way out onto the lanai and halfway to the water. Silently he handed his partner one of the bottles of beer. He saw out of his peripheral how Danny gave the brown bottle and its odd label a funny look, but when he quickly twisted the cap away and took a few swallows, no smart remark about the beer was forthcoming.

Which, really, was the final way Steve knew for sure Danny was in a bad place right now. That's why he'd been so prickly since the moment Steve had seen him at Max's place. In the last week, everyone's life had gone to hell and Steve was partially to blame for some of it.

Though, maybe not for Danny's. Still…

"You know, I thanked Chin for what he did for me," Steve said. He took a long swig from his bottle.

"Well, that's good," Danny said with a nod, his voice so quiet it seemed to want to blend in with the still night air surrounding them. "I gave him shit, but…" He shrugged.

"It's your way," Steve said with a half-smile. But Danny didn't smile back, so Steve continued with what he'd started. "I didn't actually thank Kono, but she took the news about IA hard and I figured I'd make it up to her later. Buy her a new punching bag or spar with her or something."

Danny's response was a noncommittal hum and the faintest twitch of his left hand.

Steve looked carefully at him. "And I'm not sure where the hell Jenna came up with that locker key, but I owe her for that, too. Ultimately finding that camera memory card is what led to you finding the camera and led to me standing here with you instead of cuffed to a hospital bed."

"Or worse," Danny added, and Steve nodded, turning his eyes back to the dark water before them.

"The one thing I haven't done yet, though, Danny, is thank _you_."

It almost seemed like Danny flinched, but Steve couldn't be sure he'd seen any movement at all. His partner was standing rock-still, not even blinking. Steve wondered as he stared at Danny's chest whether the man was even breathing.

"You've been going through shit I can't even imagine," Steve stated as though he did this sort of verbal thing with Danny (or anyone, for that matter) all the time and was an old pro at it. "And yet you stuck around, you busted your ass, you lost your job and you saved my life."

Steve felt his legs almost give out in relief when Danny, voice a little louder and more relaxed, posture suddenly less rigid, said, "All in a week's work for Five-0, right, partner?"

Smiling a genuine smile that reached and shone through his eyes, Steve nodded and clinked the necks of their beer bottles together. "Just goes to prove I made the right decision choosing you as my partner."

Danny looked up at him and in the dim moonlight, Steve could see for just a few seconds the unguarded look in his best friend's eyes. Danny knew exactly what Steve was doing. And he knew why.

"_Forced_, Steven!" Danny exclaimed, left hand waving while the right hand clutched the Thai bottle of beer tightly. He began to pace toward the water, pivoting as sand flew up from the backs of his shoes and stalking back toward Steve, finger up and pointing, face twisted into something resembling fury. "You _forced_ me into this life, this being-your-partner gig. Forced. Steven."

Steve tried to suppress his smile, but he was largely unsuccessful. "Yep," he said, tilting his head back to drain his beer.

For the next twenty minutes, Steve listened to his partner's version of how he'd been commandeered. His smile never faltered.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 36<strong>

Give advice in a loving way — not in a nagging or belittling way.

Normally, what he would've said: "What the hell is the _matter_ with you? Do you not yet know better than to check for a goddamn tripwire _before_ you shove open the front door of a place where a suspected _bomber_ lives?"

What he actually said: "Next time I am going to chain you to the steering wheel."

Normally what he would've said: "Have you never heard of using a _key_ to start a car, Steven? What the hell kind of screw do you have loose up there anyway?"

What he actually said: "Next time I am going to lock you out of the car."

Normally what he would've said: "You will never learn. You will never _fucking learn_. I am done with this shit. You want to keep running around like you're goddamn Rambo, you do it _on your own_!"

What he actually said: "Next time you wait for backup or you're losing the only one you have."

Normally what he would've said: "You goddamn bastard, how could you leave me alone here on this fucking island by _dying_ and thinking of no one but yourself? Did it never occur to you that I might have some actual _feelings_ involved here, McGarrett, you selfish _prick_?"

What he actually said: "Oh, my God. You're still alive."

Normally what he would've said: "If you _ever_ pull a stunt like that without telling me about it in advance…if you _ever_ make me believe you're dead again when you're not, I will fucking shoot you myself and then I will raise you from the dead and shoot you again for good measure! Asshole!"

What he actually said: "Next time, bring your backup in on it….Asshole."


	19. Ways 37 and 38

_Author's Note: __**WARNING!**__ Way 37 assumes two major character deaths have already occurred – and the manner of the deaths is discussed. It is, however, a humorous piece, not angst-ridden._

**Way 37**

Help your husband to be the Spiritual head at home (without "lording" it over him).

"Oh, you are most definitely not going to be in charge of _this_ op, my friend. No sir, no way, no how."

"What the hell difference does it make? I can't get you shot at."

"Yes, you can."

"Well, okay, but it can't _kill_ you. Since…you know…you're already dead."

"Thanks to _you_, I might point out."

"Are we doing this _again_, Danny? We've been dead for four _years_ now!"

"And yet here we are, hanging around this goddamn island that's _still_ a pineapple-infested hellhole, in this house which, by the way, is getting new tenants today in case you hadn't noticed."

"Riiiight, which is why I'm heading this op."

"No. You are not."

"Yes. I am."

"Steven, you are _not_ going to frighten away the most life this house has seen since the unceremonious leap you took from the _roof_."

"It's not my fault! I had dementia! I was ninety-nine years old, for God's sake!"

"Brought about by your penchant for getting your head slammed into hard objects on a regular basis, as I predicted. Now, do you want to tell me why _I_ didn't make it to one hundred, Steven? Mm? Don't pout, babe. Didn't work when we were forty, won't work now."

"Because you came up to the roof to try and keep me from taking a flying leap."

"Which, for all intents and purposes after having been your backup for more than half a century, one would _think_ I would've known better than to do but yes, that is exactly why you and I, whose birthdays were a day apart, died on the same goddamn hot-ass Hawaiian summer night, at ninety-nine years of age, just _two days_ before I would've turned one hundred."

"I somehow thought you'd be quieter in the afterlife."

"No chance. You caused my death, just like I always said you would, and your punishment is eternity listening to me rant."

"I wish I could shoot myself."

"You can. Won't do you much good, though. And do _not_ put that bucket over the door, what are you, twelve?"

"Okay, fine. _Fine_. What is it you want me to do then, huh? We're stuck in my house, we don't know why, we've been here together for _four goddamn years_ looking like we did the day we met over guns in that garage out there, and when I finally get to have some fun, you want to take it all away from me. So fine. What is your big idea with living people moving in today since you won't let me get on with scaring them the hell away from my _house_?"

"Putting aside for the moment the fact that you've just said more words in one breath than you did the entire sixty years I knew you in the flesh, I think maybe you ought to see _who's_ moving into your house before you go wanting to bang them on the head with buckets, Steven."

"What the hell difference does that make?"

"Whether this _was_ your house or not – and I have doubts about that considering my name's on the deed too, fuckyouverymuch – you might like the woman and her new husband who are, if I'm not very much mistaken, pulling up in the driveway as we speak."

"Danny, why are you grinning like…who—is that-oh, my God, that's _Grace_!"

"That is my one and only daughter, yes."

"She's the new tenant?"

"She's the new tenant. Her and Johnny."

"Johnny."

"The new husband."

"Right."

"Who's now going to be head of this household."

"Over my dead body, Danny."

"And you wonder why I still have reasons to rant."

* * *

><p><strong>Way 38<strong>

Reserve some energy for him so you're not so tired when he wants you sexually.

"Not now, Danno. I'm too tired."

"Whining does not become you."

"Just…don't give it to me right now. Please."

"Come on, I'm tired, too. Besides, you know you want me to."

"No."

"Yes you do. Come on, Steve, just open up and let me."

"I said no."

"Meaning yes."

"No means _no_, Danny. Even for you."

"You want it."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do. You've been looking at this right here all day long. You _know_ you want it."

"Jesus Christ, you're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"After the day we've had? You think I'm just going to lie back and close my eyes without getting what I've earned fair and square?"

"So if I let you give it to me, you'll shut up and leave me the hell alone?"

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"That was something Grace would say."

"Fair enough. Now, are you going to open up and take it like a man or am I going to have to force it down your throat?"

"You too, Danno. Not fair if we don't both get to."

"I had planned on it going both ways all along. But you first. Come on."

"I'm too tired to open up!"

"Bull. Here it comes, ready or not."

"_Oh, my __**God**__!"_

"Was that—?"

"Yeah, babe, that was Kono."

"_You should've put a DND sign on the door! I don't want to know what you're too tired to put into each other!"_

"She might've just broken the car door slamming it that hard."

"Chin's going to get an earful, Steve. That's just great."

"Think we ought to call her up and tell her we were talking about the pain pill we both have to take while we're laid up with one broken arm each?"

…

…

…

"Naaaaah."


	20. Ways 39 and 40

**Way 39**

Don't expect him to do projects beyond his natural capabilities.

"This, Steven, is not something either you or I were trained to do."

"Which means, what, that we shouldn't even try?"

"I am not saying that. I try new things all the time and no, do _not_ insert pineapple and ham pizza into this conversation, because that is not a new thing anyone from the land of Italian food should be forced to try."

"Okay, Danny. No Hawaiian pizza will be inserted anywhere."

Danny gave him a truly withering glare. Steve smiled brightly in response, just because he knew it pissed his partner off.

"I am standing by my earlier statement that neither of us was trained for this."

"And I accept that as fact, Counselor," Steve replied drily.

This time Danny's look was delivered through eyes narrowed to near-slits, and Steve couldn't quite read it.

"I am not going to scar my precious daughter for life simply because you thought it might be fun to try something new."

Steve heard the warning tone in his partner's voice and frowned. "You think I'd be willing to scar Grace for life because I want to try something new?"

"No, no, I did not state, nor did I intimate, that you would willingly scar my daughter for life. I was simply stating the fact that _I_ will not scar my daughter for life simply because _you_ want to try something new."

"You do realize that by the time you finish talking about something, it could've been done ten times over already."

"_That_, my friend, is an exaggeration."

"Okay, I'll give you that. It could've been done _nine_ times over already."

Danny huffed. Steve could smell victory in the exhaled breath.

"We can do this, Danny. We're grown men. I'm Navy, you're Jersey. You're telling me you don't think we're up to the task?"

And the final victory dance was just around the corner. Because Steve knew his partner, and challenging Danny's Jersey manhood was always the way to get him to do something he wasn't keen to do. In fact, Steve mused, he ought to try that out on the whole pineapple pizza thing.

"Do you not know who you're talking to here, McGarrett? I will back down from _nothing_, most _especially_ when it involves something Grace wants."

Steve nodded as though this were news to him, all the while trying to keep from rubbing his hands together in glee.

No, neither of them were trained for this. Neither of them had any experience with this. But for the sake of one little girl with brown pigtails, melting chocolate for eyes and a pout that could drive Steve's former commanding officer to weep, they would do it.

After all, how hard could escorting Grace to her classmate's Halloween party be?

Plenty hard, both men realized. Especially when one of them was sporting glass slippers and the other a long, fishy tail…

* * *

><p><strong>Way 40<strong>

Pray for him to enjoy God's best in life.

Steve simply couldn't understand how anyone could look at one of Oahu's pristine, ethereal beaches at sunset and not see it for the beauty that it was.

Danny only ever saw sand, shark-infested water and too much of both.

Steve simply couldn't understand how anyone could watch native Polynesian rituals and dances and not see the ancient languages of both body and voice that resonated and pulsated in time with the music and the chanting and the connection to these islands that was so purely and innocently conveyed.

Danny only ever saw scantily clad men and women speaking a language he couldn't understand which included the word _haole_ said none-too-kindly sometimes in his direction.

Steve simply couldn't understand how someone could be in the midst of untouched jungle forest and not feel the hushed wonder of greens and browns and grays blending together to create the most breathtaking view that Nature had to offer.

Danny only ever saw too much dirt, trees and grass and not nearly enough skyscrapers, concrete or cars.

Steve simply couldn't understand how someone could cover so much of a body that truly had nothing to be ashamed of under the heat and humidity of afternoon Hawaiian skies, claiming it was only so he would appear professional in his job as a cop.

Danny only ever bitched about how overheated he was while his tie looked like it was trying its best to strangle him, dark wet spots appeared at his pits and on his back, and his damp shirt clung to him like a second skin.

No, Steve simply couldn't understand why Danny always saw the negative in things, though he suspected it may have been nothing more than his partner being the product of city upbringing, of a loud and streetwise family, of having been a city cop and born and raised in a place where sunshine didn't mean the same thing as it did in Hawaii.

Danny thought New Jersey was Nirvana, while Steve thought it sounded like a worse hell on Earth than the entirety of the Middle Eastern deserts put together had ever been on SEAL missions.

But each and every day, though he wasn't by nature a religious man, Steve prayed to whoever or whatever might hear him out there in the ether, that one day Danny's eyes would open to what was around him, to _who_ was around him. That he would blink awake one morning and relish the sun peeking through his blinds rather than curse its brightness. That he would sigh happily at the feel of the Pacific lapping against his ankles rather than complain about it getting the hems of his pants wet.

He prayed that one day Danny would embrace the rainbows and the culture, the dress code and Island Time, the beauty and his _ohana_ that he seemed to always be trying to keep at arm's length.

And then one day, Steve started to believe firmly that somebody up there or out there was actually listening to him, because as he and his partner stood at the water's edge on Steve's property watching the sun sink to the horizon, he caught something in Danny's eyes that looked suspiciously like appreciation for the vibrant colors in the sky.

Steve allowed himself to smile. Eventually, maybe, his prayers would actually be answered.


	21. Ways 41 and 42

**Way 41**

Take special notice for what he has done for you and the family.

Danny has a theory.

Well, Danny has lots of theories, but there's this one particular theory he really isn't sure how to prove. Or disprove, if he's wrong. But he doesn't think he is.

It's just the little things he's noticed, and Danny always notices the little things. It's one reason he's a damn good detective. It's one reason he knew before Rachel did that their marriage was going to tank no matter how much he tried to deny it, fight it, ignore it. It's one reason he didn't squawk as much as he might've when a certain Lieutenant Commander made him his partner without even asking. All because of the little things.

So these little things, he's made a list – he makes lists all the time, sometimes just inside his mind, sometimes actually written down when a certain amount of analysis or scrutiny is required. This particular list falls into the latter category.

Danny pulls out a small spiral notebook and a pencil – because really, when you're trying to figure something out, #2s beat out ballpoints every time –sits down on his folded-up couch and opens to the exact page he wants.

The fact that he knows exactly where that is in the fifty-plus pages that have writing on them, he thinks, is cause for a small amount of concern. But he brushes that aside, folds the notebook in half, and concentrates on his list, which goes something like this:

1. No matter how many bad guys he puts away (or does away with), he never seems to think it's enough.

2. No matter how many times we tell him (and show him) that we've got his back, he seems to still think he's in things alone.

3. No matter how many times Chin or Kono say _mahalo_ for something Steve does to help them out, or how many times I say thank you for the same thing, he never quite seems to think he's done enough for us.

4. No matter how many times I tell him he's always welcome to hang out with me and Grace when I have her, he always seems to think he's intruding, even when she squeals and hugs him and talks his ear off.

5. No matter how many times I initiate touching, his hand always stops shy of returning the gesture like he thinks he has no right to show physical affection to anyone except in extreme circumstances (like when I almost bought it).

Danny reads the list a few times, and his theory that's not written down but is firmly entrenched in his mind, goes a little something like this:

_Steve McGarrett is incapable of internalizing (or maybe even of believing) that he's done so much for so many people that he's worthy of…_

Problem is, Danny can never finish that sentence. Worthy of…what, exactly? Of praise? Of _ohana_? Of friendship? Of love?

Danny's not really sure. Now, he's known an awful lot of people in his life who are really uncomfortable with praise. He's never really stopped, though, and thought about the reasons behind that. Why do people not think they deserve the good things that come their way, even if those good things are sometimes as small as someone laying their hand on your arm? Or as minute as a genuine smile? Or a little bigger, like inviting someone along to the zoo for an afternoon of smelly animal cages, over-priced food and too many kids screaming over the chimp exhibit?

Leaning back and scratching his clean-shaven cheeks where it stung with a razor burn and aftershave combo, Danny knows he's got to find a way to prove whether his theory is right, even though it's a little less than complete. But to do so would mean trying to crawl inside the psychology of McGarrett's head, and isn't that more than just a little scary?

He's the one always telling Steve he needs to see a shrink.

But maybe it's not something for a shrink after all. Danny's eyes wander over his list again. These things are more of a personal nature, more about things that the family Steve has here on this island, his Five-0 family, see happen day in and day out. Maybe this is just another case for Five-0 and not for some man or woman who doesn't know Steve from an errant piece of seaweed floating into shore.

Although the idea of running an op on a former Navy SEAL might not go well if said SEAL finds out about it, but this is bugging Danny now to the point where he feels the need to take some sort of action.

So what can he do?

He could talk to Kono and Chin. Chin, especially, might have some insight given that he knew Steve as a kid, and knew Steve's dad pretty well. Maybe it goes that far back, to Steve's formative years. Or maybe not. Maybe whatever it is that makes it seem like Steve doesn't think he's worthy of…whatever…came after he was fifteen. After his mom died and he and Mary were sent to the mainland. So Chin wouldn't know much about that.

There is Joe White. Now, this is a guy Danny likes. And even though White claims to have trained Steve, it's pretty clear the guy isn't nearly as insane as Steve is in terms of throwing himself in front of (or being the thrower of) live ordnance at every possible opportunity.

Then again, maybe age has mellowed _that_ Lt. Commander out. Maybe that's what Steve will be like in a decade or two. Danny shakes his head with a chuckle. Steve becoming calm like that just isn't something he can fathom. He thinks Steve will either die in the line of duty with Five-0 or on a SEAL mission, or he'll live for two hundred years, still chasing down bad guys and destroying Oahu one pineapple at a time long after Danny's turned to dust.

Well, that's a morbid thought. He shakes his head again, this time to clear it, and returns to his ruminations.

He's ruled out talking to Chin. There's Kono, but she's known Steve a marginally shorter time than Danny. She's observant and all, but Danny doubts Steve gives any of his secrets away to her. He just doesn't do that, not even with his partner. Although, Danny reasons, he's probably privy to a little more from Steve than the others.

So that sort of rules Kono out and anyway, she'd just want to walk up to Steve and ask him the questions, and that would make Steve clam up for the rest of their natural lives.

He thinks briefly of using his own daughter, and that should make him feel guilty but it doesn't, to wheedle information out of Steve. The first problem with that scenario is that Grace might not be able to keep the secret for very long that she's repeating what her father's telling her to. The second problem is that even though it wouldn't make him feel altogether _that_ guilty, he knows he shouldn't use Gracie just to pick apart the mind of his partner.

Okay, so she's out. It's just Danny and his list and his incomplete theory. And that's when his eyes, flitting around his tiny apartment as he thinks all this through, land on the morning's newspaper now folded in half and lying atop the table.

It's opened to the Classifieds because Danny's been looking around to see if someone's selling a bed. His pull-out is killing his back, to the point where he's taken to sleeping on the couch in its folded state because at least then he doesn't feel like Steve's Navy uniform sword is lodged in his spine every morning that way. He's seen that thing up close and personal, and shivers involuntarily.

He sighs, pulling his thoughts away from dark blue suit jackets, colorful medals, white hats and silver swords, and puts the notebook down on the cushion next to him, levers himself off the couch and ambles to the newspaper. He grabs it, raises it to eye level, and his wandering gaze catches on something immediately. A slow smile spreads across his face because he knows Steve reads this part of the Classifieds every day, always looking for anything out-of-the-ordinary that might be related to a case, past or present.

Well, Danny thinks, his grin going at about a thousand watts right now, this will definitely be something out-of-the-ordinary for Steve to find. And maybe, just maybe, it'll speak to him in a way Danny, for all the words he can speak, and Chin and Kono, for all that they try, and Grace, for all the hugs and kisses she's bestowed upon him, haven't been able to.

* * *

><p>Danny is watching very carefully the next morning. As usual, the paper's been delivered to Steve's desk by any number of good-looking women working in the palace who think that acting like a faithful dog will get the Commander's attention. Poor things, Steve barely even registers how the paper gets there to begin with. Danny can't help but feel sorry for them and hope maybe one day for one of them it might actually pay off.<p>

Be the delivery system as it may, Danny settles back to observe as unobtrusively as possible. This is a one-man strategic operation and the fallout could be spectacular. Or it could be a complete dud, in which case Danny might have to get more creative.

So he waits. Steve comes in. Steve bids him good morning. Catches Kono entering and does the same. Chin's last in, but calls out an _Aloha_ to which Steve responds as he scans the front page of the Star-Advertiser. Then he discards that and moves to the Sports section, catching up on the highlights.

Then, as Danny knew he would, Steve leans as far back as his office chair will allow, holds up the Classifieds in front of his face, and begins his morning ritual of checking them. Danny can tell down to the nanosecond when Steve sees the ad he placed. It isn't so much a movement that clues him in as it is a _lack_ of movement. Steve stills like he's all alone in the middle of enemy territory and just heard a twig snap.

That's all for a good ten seconds, and then the paper slowly lowers. Danny quickly averts his gaze to his cell phone, where he's trying like hell to type an email out to Rachel without misspelling every other word or engaging the damn auto-correct and enraging her because his goofy thumbs have prompted highly inappropriate word usage where an ex-wife is concerned.

But he can see Steve very clearly out of his peripheral vision, and Steve is scanning the bullpen like there might be ninjas or snipers or maybe even Men in Black hiding in plain sight ready to ambush him.

Next, Steve folds the paper in half and then in half again, undoubtedly leaving this particular ad on the top where he reads it again, his eyes the only thing moving. Danny can _feel_ the moment Steve's eyes land on him. It's like some sort of sixth Steve-centric sense he has now after three years of being the guy's partner. He knows when Steve's looking at him, he knows sometimes exactly what Steve's thinking and what's gotten really weird is he's been able to tell when Steve's in some kind of trouble even when he's nowhere near the guy.

All things Danny's made lists for and will think about at some future date. Right now, it's about whether he can keep his face looking innocent enough that Steve doesn't suspect him. And there's no way Steve would just walk up to Chin or Kono and show them the ad, asking if either of them know anything about it. Because Steve would be too embarrassed to show it to them at all.

In fact, Danny speculates, at this very second, Steve might be trying to figure out how quickly he could remove all circulated Star-Advertisers from their shelves and newsstands before anyone else in Hawaii has a chance to read this particular little Classified.

Steve clears his throat, rises to his feet, tucks the newspaper under his arm, and walks out of the main office. Danny waits a few moments, ensuring Chin and Kono don't catch wind that he's purposely following Steve, and gets to his feet. He grabs a file from his desk and heads out into the hall. He finds Steve near the elevator, leaning against the wall like he's just had the wind knocked out of him.

Well, shit, that's not the reaction Danny wants. "Hey," he says just to make sure Steve's aware that he's coming closer. No, you don't want to get tackled by a startled SEAL, Danny speaks from experience on this matter. In fact, he suspects that in the world of civilians, he might be the foremost _authority_ on this matter. "What you got there?" Danny continues, tipping his head to the newspaper.

Steve meets his eyes and in the few moments he holds Danny's gaze, Danny sees that his partner knows it was him, and just doesn't know what to do with either the contents of the ad or the realization about who placed it.

"It's Friday," Danny says, probably needlessly, but this is how he's going to play it. "Not sure what I'm going to do without Gracie." It's a fair thing to say. After all, Danny had had his daughter for the last three weekends in a row thanks to his ex-wife's insane charity event schedule. This weekend is going to be rough on Danny, he'll be missing her, and Steve knows this already. So it's a good way to open things up a bit.

Steve nods once, like he's assessing the situation – and he probably is – before responding. He seems to come to some sort of decision, though Danny's sure he won't find out until later that night what exactly the decision is…nor, exactly, what impact his ad scheme has had on his partner. But Steve nods again and the ghost of a smile settles his mouth into an upward curve.

"I was thinking fish, grill, beer," Steve says with what he thinks is nonchalance, but which Danny sees right through.

And there, what do you know, he doesn't have to wait until tonight to find out whether the ad had an impact. He knows, and he has to fight back a grin. "I'll tell the others," he says, then turns on heel and heads back to the bullpen.

He can't help but grin like an idiot when he gets back to his computer and finds an email from the Star-Advertiser asking if he wants to extend the ad to appear in tomorrow's edition as well. No, he decides, no need. He'll just see how this weekend goes, see if they make any breakthroughs in whatever Steve's insecurities are that leads to feelings of such inadequacy in one who should never feel inadequate about anything given what he's capable of.

But Danny saves the email because he may need to use this quiet little weapon again. He looks up as Steve strides into the bullpen, glances at Danny, smiles warmly, stands just that much straighter, and continues on to his own office.

Then again, if Steve's body language is any indication, maybe Danny won't have to use the Classified Op ever again. Nothing would make him happier.

* * *

><p>Here is the ad Danny placed:<p>

**WANTED**

Lieutenant Commander SEAL who  
>keeps Hawaii safe for little<br>girls; who isn't as alone here as  
>he thinks; who's done more for us<br>than he has any clue about; who  
>is always welcome on certain<br>weekends and who is entitled to  
>reciprocate gestures at will<br>without having to ask first. Must  
>be willing to buy and share beer<br>(at his place), BBQ a fish or two  
>and listen when his team tells<br>him they've got his back. Reply  
>via ohana only.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Way 42<strong>

Brag about him to other people both in front of him and even when he's not there.

"Well, my Danno knows how to do that better than anyone."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Your Danno cooks?"

Grace rolls her eyes. "Yes, Uncle Steve. Of course he cooks! How do you think he feeds me?"

"Good point," Steve says with a face he's certain Danny has a name for firmly in place.

"He's also the best proofreader ever."

"Well, that I believe," Steve says with a sincere nod. "After all, he's the one who does most of the paperwork for our cases."

"I know," Grace says like that is _seriously_ last year's news.

"You do?"

"Mmhm."

Steve squints his eyes in the mid-day sun. Danny is still up near Kamekona talking to a suspect who doesn't know he's a suspect that they just happened to run into while heading for some shave ice in the sweltering heat.

"Does Danny talk about work a lot?" Steve asks with as much nonchalance as he can muster.

Grace nods as she bites a chunk of her shave ice off and lets it melt in her mouth. "Other than me, he says Five-0's his life," she states. "What else does he have to talk about?"

"Another good point," Steve says and tilts his head. "What else does your Danno do better than anyone?"

"Catch bad guys to keep me safe."

"I think you're right. I think he _does_ do that better than anyone," Steve agrees with a smile.

"And he also colors so much better than I do."

"I don't know if I've ever colored," Steve responds with a small frown.

"Well, Danno will teach you how! I'm almost able to get through a whole page without going outside the lines! He's a really good teacher."

Steve thinks about how Danny's always trying to teach him police procedure and his frown deepens.

Grace looks up at him, wide-eyed and serious. Steve returns the look, certain he's about to hear something very important indeed.

"And you know what, Uncle Steve?" she asks in a near-whisper.

"What?" he asks solemnly.

"He is the best father ever," she replies in the same quiet voice. "You want to know why?"

"Yes, very much," Steve replies, and he means it.

"Because he's the only father anyone at my school has ever heard of who will move so far away from home just to see his daughter."

Steve thinks that's the most grown-up thing he has ever heard come out of Gracie's mouth. It's also very telling, that she understands the situation well enough to sound like she's in awe of it.

And Steve thinks maybe he should start listening to Danny a little bit more when he's giving a (rather loud) lesson in waiting for backup or interrogating suspects. He steals a glance up to where Danny seems to be, from his body language, taking pity on the _haole_ who's even shorter than Danny is, if the way his arm's gone around the guy's shoulder is any indication.

"Your Danno _is_ the best father ever, Grace," Steve finally says, and the girl beams at him. He can't help but return it. "I've known that since the first day I met him."

They sit there in companionable silence for a few minutes until a shadow falls across them. Steve looks up to find the object of their conversation standing over where they're seated at a picnic table. Danny leans down and kisses the top of Grace's head, right where her hair's parted for her trademark pigtails.

"Enjoying your shave ice?" he asks her, and Grace nods while enthusiastically biting off another chunk of the frozen concoction. Then Danny straightens and his eyes tell his partner they'll discuss whatever Danny found out from one Sammy Markham after Grace has left their immediate vicinity.

"Danno?"

"Yeah, Monkey?" Danny says as he swings his leg up and over the table's bench to sit on Grace's other side.

"Is it wrong to brag?"

Danny considers this for a moment. Steve's listening just as intently as Grace is, because for all that Danny pontificates during work hours together, he tends to find out more about his partner by listening to his conversations with Grace than he does on the job.

"It depends on what you're bragging about, I think," Danny says. His eyes flick to meet Steve's and then settle on his daughter's. "For example, if you were to brag about the big, expensive house you live in with your mom and Stan, to kids who maybe don't have as much privilege as you do, that would be bad."

Grace nods. To Steve, it almost looks like she's committing every one of Danny's words to memory and he has to stop the snort that wants to escape when he thinks of how many terabytes that man's words would use up.

"So when is bragging not bad?"

"Well," Danny says, and seems to be choosing his words carefully, "I guess if you're bragging about someone's accomplishments, as long as you're just doing it because you're proud of them, then that kind of bragging isn't bad."

"Good," Grace says with a satisfied couple of nods. "Because I was just bragging about you to Uncle Steve."

Danny's face turns pink. Steve has a bad feeling that at least the tips of his own ears have gone the same color.

"Were you now?" Danny asks, and his eyes meet Steve's. Steve looks away. "And what exactly were you telling Uncle Steve about me, Monkey?"

"That you can cook," Grace starts, ticking her points off on one hand with the bottom of the shave ice's paper cone, "that you color really good, inside the lines and everything."

"That I do," Danny says.

"That you are a good proofreader, an awesome catcher of bad guys, and that you're the best father _ever_."

There are never moments Steve enjoys more than when Danny's heart gets way too big for his words and he has to use his hands or arms instead. This is one such moment, when Danny leans forward and takes his daughter into his embrace so fiercely it makes the picnic table scoot an inch.

"Thank you, Grace," Danny says as he releases her, and Steve pretends not to notice that sand or salt or something must have gotten into Danny's eyes in the nonexistent breeze that hasn't picked up.

"You're welcome, Daddy," she says, and Grace doesn't use that word a lot, so Steve thinks it must have serious significance for the little girl who grew up calling her father something like Danno. "Besides, I guess it isn't really bragging when the person you're bragging to knows all of it already like Uncle Steve says he does."

This time, Steve's sure his entire face _does_ go pink when Danny looks at him. But what the hell. He can always blame it on the Hawaiian sun.


	22. Ways 43 and 44

_Author's Note: Way 43 deals with a very touchy subject that some readers may have difficulty reading about. It is __not in any way graphic__, but it does refer to (and center around) the issue of a teenage boy being raped. If this subject matter offends you, or you cannot handle it, do not read this Way. __**You have been warned.**__ Also, there are spoilers here for Season 1 Episode 23 "Ua Hiki Mai Kapalena Pau" and a very tiny mention of events in "Loa Aloha." I am not paying much attention to timeline or continuity, however._

**Way 43**

Keep conversations brief when he's tired—so he isn't "flooded" by too many words.

Once, Danny had been a man of few words.

(You may find that hard to believe, given the Danny you now know, but once upon a time, it was indeed Truth.)

Truth which had to change, if for no other reason than for one Daniel Williams to maintain his distance for reasons of self-preservation. Because being a man of few words – or, at least, a boy of few words – had gotten him hurt so badly it had eventually ruined a marriage to the woman he loved more than life itself. Ruined his chances of being with his beloved child every day of her life until she left home. Ruined Danny.

Danny is damaged. He is therefore defensive. He is therefore verbose and, oftentimes, loud in conjunction with that.

He knows inside what he means to say. He knows deep down how many words it really should and would take to say it. He knows that getting to the point sooner rather than later would work so much better with certain of his acquaintances, most especially one Lieutenant Commander McGarrett.

But twenty years ago, Danny learned the hard way that not saying very much, or not saying anything at all, led to pain…anguish…betrayal. He thought he had licked the problem with Rachel, but instead that situation had made him so uncomfortable his words had become greater in number; louder in volume; meaner in tone and nastier in choice of which words to use.

It had driven them apart, and Rachel had never known what caused Danny to drive her away. She watched him spiral afterwards into the deepest depression she had ever witnessed in anyone once he realized it meant no more daily Grace. He had used so many words then, softened at first, then growing louder when she refused to cave in to his pleas. When she refused to soothe his breaking heart because he had already shattered hers into millions of pieces that would never fit together quite right again. When she refused to try again.

And so Danny waved his hands around a lot, to keep people away. He used more words to say one thing than anyone else anyone who knew him had ever met. He kept the walls around him, the bubble around him. He kept himself safe.

* * *

><p>Except now he seemed to be opening up. Because there, he gave Chin and Kono a hug. And there, he even gave Jenna a hug and they've never been close on ops or stakeouts or at the computer table all the time like he has with Chin and Kono, so that right there was noteworthy.<p>

And here. Right here he was, Steve saw him approach, saw the look on his face, tried to deflect from his true thoughts when Danny got in front of him. But Danny smiled and it was warm, and it was genuine. And Danny had been holding Rachel in the hospital and really, the only person Steve had ever seen Danny hold, or allow anywhere near his body, was Grace. Until today.

Until now, when Danny told him he thought they'd grown close. When Danny waved Steve near, gave him permission to get closer than Steve thought he'd ever, ever gotten to his partner. Danny acknowledging something that Steve thought maybe might have been a big hurdle for his partner.

And then Sang Min, and the moment was gone, and Steve was left to wonder how long he would have kept his arms around Danny. He was left to wonder why Danny decided to let his _ohana_ into his space like that today. He was left to wonder if all the little touches and the way Danny had slowly allowed Steve to stand minutely closer over the past several months had been Danny really and truly starting to heal.

Steve also wished, much later that night, that he hadn't stumbled across the thing that happened to Danny that Danny obviously never wanted anyone to find out. Becoming a cop had allowed him the ability to get rid of the electronic copies of the records. It had allowed him to bury the truth with the youth he was robbed of too soon. This thing that had damaged him, but that he had overcome.

The old police file Steve's contact in Jersey had found under a foot of dust in an old basement file box when digging around for information on Danny's brother had brought the truth to Steve McGarrett. All he'd been trying to do was quietly help Danny figure out how everything had gone so wrong with that situation. Danny didn't know Steve was using his Naval Intelligence contacts to try and help him, and Steve preferred it to stay that way.

Taken to the Emergency Room the morning after his fifteenth birthday, young Daniel Williams who didn't have blonde hair, but much darker and close-cropped hair. But whose face was the same, if not showing more lines and crinkles around the eyes. Whose blue eyes hadn't changed at all in the intervening decades.

Even now, as Steve looked at the photo showing a stony-faced teen, and re-read the hand-written doctor's assessment…as he re-read the hand-written faded and photocopied police report from Danny's local precinct's storage room, he could not fathom how Danny had overcome what Steve thought would have broken him at that age. It was one thing to have your mother killed in a car accident, as Steve and Mary had thought at the time.

It was another thing entirely for your half-uncle to rape you the night of your birthday and then disappear into thin air, never to be seen or heard from again.

That's what had happened to Danny, and Steve could hardly reconcile that newfound knowledge with his partner. He wondered if there was any way to fix this now. If maybe the half-uncle could be tracked down. Steve was sure his contacts in Naval Intelligence, combined with Cath's resources, could do it. But when the man was found, then what? Statute of limitations was well past its expiration date, and no doubt if Steve tried meting out his own brand of justice, somehow it would get back to the Williams clan. Somehow, Danny would find out. Somehow, he would know it was Steve.

And then, Steve feared Danny would leave Five-0 for good, simply for Steve having pried into something so deeply personal. A secret Danny had kept for twenty years.

There was a reason Danny was loud, and waved his hands around. There was a reason he seemed angry all the time. He _was_, in a way, Steve supposed. But also, he wasn't. He was simply kicking and fighting and keeping himself from getting hurt like that again. Over the years the defense mechanism had probably turned into habit and just became who Danny was.

Steve supposed being on the short side for a guy didn't help matters any. To get respect you had to have a large personality that compensated for having to look up at everyone. Truthfully, that's all Steve had ever thought it was anyway. Until he'd found that damned ER report.

Danny had been through therapy. It hadn't helped much other than to teach him to tuck it away where it would never see the light of day, if the scribbled follow-up notes from Child Services were any indication.

But then Steve thought back to his observations about how Danny had changed in just the short time he'd known him. The hugging of his teammates, for one thing. The closeness with Rachel. The snarks that had given way to what was clearly more fluff and bluster than true anger over things Steve did on a daily basis.

So maybe he didn't have to help Danny after all. Or maybe he, along with the rest of the team, already _was_ helping Danny. Whether or not Danny was aware of it was irrelevant, as long as they were slowly drawing him out of being scared to be near them. To just be near _people_, and to be okay with displays of affection for them and from them.

He heard his front door open. He heard Danny call out to him, ending the query with the word 'babe,' which he used fairly liberally now to refer to his partner. Steve folded the two reports quickly into small squares and stuffed them into one of his pants pockets. He leaned his head back on the chair and shoved his feet into the sand all the way to his ankles.

Steve knew when Danny stepped out onto the _lanai_. He heard him remove his shoes and socks. He heard him walk forward and then felt the faintest breeze on his ear just before he felt a warm, firm hand on his shoulder. He couldn't help but smile just a little when Danny whispered, "You asleep, babe?"

"No," Steve whispered, looking up as Danny squeezed his shoulder. "Just waiting for this."

Danny looked at him, bemused, but squeezed his shoulder again before leaning down to grab two beers from the cooler between the two white wooden beach chairs. He twisted the cap off one and handed it to Steve, then opened his own bottle and took a long drink.

When Danny's foot managed to land against Steve's ankle as he made himself comfortable next to him, Steve suddenly felt like the most important person in the world. Danny's file had said the only person he'd ever let hug him from that terrible night right on through to entering the police academy was his mother. And then, Steve knew, he had tried with Rachel and failed, but had always succeeded with Grace.

And now he had made progress with Five-0.

Yes, Steve felt like the most important person in the world if he could silently, quietly and carefully keep coaxing Danny to trust him, to trust them all, with his personal space and the safety of everything he was. Sure, Danny had a gun and was trained to use it, but Steve knew a little something about rape, having dealt with it en masse in one village in a place he didn't let himself think about anymore. He knew what it did to the victims, be they men or women, and so he had some idea what Danny had buried way deep down under thirty layers of concrete.

So when Steve leaned just a few inches toward Danny, he watched carefully and saw Danny didn't flinch. When he placed a hand on Danny's arm, Danny's blue eyes turned toward him and were full of trust laced with a certain amount of still being guarded, unsure. But when Steve drew his partner into an awkward one-armed hug, Danny didn't fight, flinch or pull away.

"I'm glad you're okay, Danny," Steve whispered into his partner's hair. When Danny squeezed him, sighed and nodded into Steve's shoulder, he counted it as a really, really big win. And released him so as not to overstay his welcome in Danny's space. With the explanation, "Got interrupted before."

Danny nodded. "Sang Min's an asshole."

Steve smiled. Sure, it was a long time ago that it had happened to Danny. And sure, Danny was still boisterous and used way too many words to get around to his point. But eventually, Steve mused, when Danny finally let the last of his guard down, maybe he'd turn back into that man of few words, the man who only said what he needed to say. The man he'd been when he was still just a boy.

And even if he stayed just as he was for the rest of his life, Steve would help him. He'd never speak of it to Danny. He'd never overuse words like Danny did, but he'd never treat him any differently except to keep slowly, quietly and carefully invading Danny's space whenever it seemed appropriate.

"You all right?" Steve asked quietly as he settled into the chair.

"Yeah, Steve. Just a little tired," Danny replied, and Steve marveled that there was nothing else forthcoming. No rant. No rave. No hand-waving. No more words.

Danny usually flooded Steve with words to keep from being hurt emotionally, psychologically, physically. Maybe that was changing now.

Steve would flood Danny with the love of his _ohana_ and make sure he _never_ got hurt again. And that would _never_ change.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 44<strong>

Tell him 3 things you specifically appreciate about him.

"Let's play a game."

Danny cut his eyes at Grace, then at Steve, who seemed to be acting like this was a good idea. Unfortunately, Steve had no clue what Grace could come up with when she was in the mood to make up games.

"What's the game?" Steve asked before Danny could put a premature end to it.

"Three Things," Grace replied, and Danny frowned. He hadn't heard of this one before.

"How do you play?" Steve asked, expecting to be asked for a deck of cards, maybe, Danny thought, or plastic poker chips.

"You have to say three nice things about the other people playing the game," Grace replied, and Danny thought, okay, that doesn't sound too bad. "And you have to be honest, because," and her face scrunched up as she clearly recited something she'd been taught, "expressing yourself and your feelings in a positive manner fosters good feelings with those you love."

Steve's eyes widened. Danny felt his own do the same. "Well," Danny said, "I think we can probably do that, don't you?" This question was directed at Steve.

"Sure, but I'm not going to compliment your ties."

Danny really wanted to flip him off, but restrained himself and instead ignored his overgrown child of a partner. "Who starts, Monkey?" he asked Grace.

"I'll start, and I'll start with Uncle Steve," Grace announced. "Thing Number One: Uncle Steve thinks eating healthy is important, too."

Danny rolled his eyes.

Steve grinned.

"Number Two," Grace continued, "Uncle Steve is an American hero."

Steve blushed.

Danny grinned.

"Number Three: Uncle Steve has the best house in Hawaii."

Steve shrugged.

Danny chuckled.

"Okay, Danno, your turn! You have to say three nice things about me now."

"Only three? That's not enough!"

Grace giggled and rolled her eyes. "Daddy!"

"All right, all right. Three things. One, Grace is beautiful. Two, Grace is highly intelligent. Three, Grace is practically perfect in every way."

"Like Mary Poppins!" Grace interjected with a big smile.

"Like Mary Poppins," Danny confirmed with a nod.

"Okay, Uncle Steve, your turn! Say three nice things about me."

Steve cleared his throat, eyes darting to Danny, then looking directly into Grace's. "Grace is…" He hesitated and Danny noted the look of discomfort on his face. But hell, this was Steve's fault. If only he'd let Danny intervene before giving his daughter the go-ahead for this game.

"Well?" Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve glared at him, then went back to looking at Grace. "Grace is very brave," he said, and Grace's eyes widened, then her face brightened as she smiled. "Grace has a laugh that makes me laugh."

Grace laughed out loud. Danny grinned when Steve did, too.

"What's the third thing?" Grace asked, just a little shy all of a sudden.

"Grace is _hauoli_."

Danny watched his daughter fairly beam rays of sunshine at Steve. He cocked his head. "What's that mean?"

"Happiness, Daddy!"

Danny looked at his partner. "Nice one," he said quietly and watched Steve duck his head and smile like he was ten and got caught passing a note to a girl he liked. It was the only thing Danny could equate that weird, shy, goofy look to in his mind, so he went with the image and chuckled.

"Okay, it's my turn again. Now I have to say three nice things about you, Danno."

"Shoot," Danny said with all the confidence of a man who knew his daughter was a Daddy's girl.

"My Danno is the bravest man I know."

Danny felt his chest puff up with pride.

"My Danno loves me."

"Now that's the truest thing I've ever heard," Danny nodded in agreement.

"My Danno is a very handsome man."

Danny's eyes widened. Grace knew what a handsome man was? Really? And that he was…and…oh, shit, she was getting too old. Or he was. One or the other. He happened to look sideways and noted the funny look on his partner's face. What the hell was that?

"What? I _am_ a very handsome man," Danny said, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt.

Steve sucked his lips in and bit down on them and Danny narrowed his eyes. Oh, how he wanted to curse right now but there was Grace.

Grace, who was poking his knee. "Say three nice things about Uncle Steve now, Daddy."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes!" she replied, forcing her arms to fold over her chest in much the same way Danny's were. He groaned and let his arms drop to his sides. He was seriously passing some things along to her that she did not need to mimic.

"Okay, fine, all right," Danny said, eyes moving to Steve. Steve, who seemed to be smirking more than usual as he awaited Danny's three things. Danny rolled his eyes. "Steve's a good boss except for when he tries to get me killed every day."

"Danno, _no_! That's not how it works! You can't compliment him and insult him at the same time!"

"Thank you, Grace."

"You're ganging up on me."

Both sets of eyes bored holes through his skull. "For the record, I'm being interrogated under duress."

"Duly noted, Danny."

"What's duress?"

"You forcing me to be nice without any insults thrown in for good measure."

"Oh. Well?" Grace replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Fine. Steve's a good boss."

Steve grinned.

Danny scowled.

"And Number Two?" Grace prompted.

Danny sighed. "Steve's got tattoos."

"That's a fact, Danny, not a nice thing."

"All right, fine, Steve's got _nice_ tattoos. There. Happy?"

"Absolutely!" Steve said with a big, shit-eating grin. "Thank you, I didn't know you'd noticed."

Danny's scowl deepened. "Well, if you kept your shirt on at crime scenes once in a while, I wouldn't have."

"Number Three, Danno," Grace said, exasperated and sounding way too much like Rachel.

A long-suffering sigh later, Danny said, "Steve's…" His voice trailed off. He wasn't quite sure what the third one was going to be. He looked up at Grace, who was watching him expectantly. Then he made the mistake of looking at Steve, who appeared to be going through three different brands of Aneurism Face coupled with two variations of Kicked Puppy Face because maybe he was thinking Danny didn't have anything else nice to say about him and Christ, how had this become Danny's life, anyway, catering to the bruised and yet over-inflated ego of his own personal SEAL?

"Steve has an extraordinarily expressive face," Danny said without the hint of a smile.

Steve went through a few more faces, evidently unable to decide if that third thing was good or not.

Grace seemed placated, though, because she said, "Okay, Steve, you're the last one. Three nice things about my Danno."

"Danny's hair is awesome."

"Asshole," Danny barely whispered.

"Danny is the most professional-looking policeman I have ever met."

Danny glared daggers at him in spite of the fact that Grace was smiling.

"Danny," Steve said, much more quietly and this time looking right at him, "has extraordinarily expressive eyes."

Danny frowned a bit, but Steve looked back to Grace. "How'd I do?"

"Awesome!" Grace said, clapping her hands together. "There, now, don't we all feel more positive about those we love?"

Danny wasn't sure _what_ he felt after all that, but he was pretty certain Steve didn't look like he was feeling anything close to positive. Maybe more like embarrassed with a side of WTF for good measure.

"Okay, Monkey, get your things together, time to go back to your mom's."

"K, Danno!" she said brightly, rising to her feet and scrambling into his lap for a hug. He felt himself pressed into the back of the couch and grinned as his arms wrapped around her. "I think Uncle Steve's right," she whispered into his ear.

"About what?" he asked as Steve moved off the other end of the couch and headed out of the room.

"You _do_ have awesome hair!" she said, then giggled maniacally as she ruffled it and hopped off his lap before he could stop her.

Steve turned, took in the sight of Danny's hair and Danny's pink face and laughed out loud.

"_You_ are going to hear three ways that you will very soon be dead if you do not stop laughing at my expense. My daughter thinks I am the most handsome man she's ever met, and that includes with this new hairdo she's just given me, you got it?"

Danny had somehow gotten off the couch, was standing right in front of Steve, and had a finger jabbed into his partner's breastbone to put an exclamation point at the end of that sentence.

Steve grabbed his finger, held onto it for a few seconds as he looked into his eyes, then smiled as he let go.

"Yeah, Danno," he said quietly. "I got it." He looked down to where Grace was putting the last of her Barbie dolls into their pink carrying case. "All three times."

Danny almost did a literal facepalm. He suddenly had visions of Steve forcing the entirety of Five-0 to do this while singing Kumbaya around a campfire he was sure Steve would build on his beach. He just knew he'd wind up humiliated somehow under those circumstances, especially in trying to say three nice things about his partner that wouldn't get raised eyebrows and weird looks from the Creepy Cousins.

Maybe getting his daughter and his partner together hadn't been altogether that bright of an idea.

Then again, he now knew Steve thought his eyes were expressive, and this was a new piece of information. Danny figured from now on he could tell Steve to fuck off just with his eyes whenever Grace was around and save himself from having to put a quarter in the empty pickle jar that was almost full after three weeks.

"_Seriously, Danny? You brought a pickle jar from New Jersey?"_

"_It's a very special pickle jar!"_

"_We have pickles in Hawaii, Danny."_

"_You probably put fucking pineapple in them."_


	23. Ways 45 and 46

**Way 45**

Honor him in front of the children (differ respectfully in private when necessary).

"And Chin and I will complete the circuit on bikes. Kamekona will be dropping them off within the next half-hour."

Kono nodded thoughtfully, Chin nodded once decisively. She headed out with him to hit the Five-0 store room with its stash of expensive and in some cases oddly-come-by electronic equipment. They'd be suiting up with listening and monitoring devices for this op.

Steve stayed behind in the bullpen, eyes focused on the tabletop screen, a detailed map of downtown Honolulu zoomed in to five hundred percent. He was memorizing not only the route he and Chin would be taking, but also the cross-streets, alleys, and possible places where the op could go so wrong.

It wasn't until Danny cleared his throat that the team leader even registered someone was still in the room. "You should be getting outfitted," he said absently, committing the six-block radius to memory.

"What the ever-loving fuck, Steven?" Danny said evenly.

Steve blinked and looked at Danny.

"Why are you and Chin on the bikes? Am I or am I not your partner?"

Steve's mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. "Of course you are. What's that got to do with this?"

"Shouldn't I be the one playing bicycle cop with you?"

Steve frowned. "Tactical decision, Danny. Your knee's been given final clearance but you're still in physical therapy. Chin's at full capability right now, and he's stronger than Kono for long-distance riding just by nature of being male."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "She would beat your ass to a bloody pulp if she heard that was your reasoning."

"I know," Steve said, quirking a grin. "You know I'm not benching you just to bench you."

Danny stretched his mouth into a downward-turning okay, yeah, fine, gesture, bobbing his head and throwing his hands outward like a horizontal windmill as Kono and Chin re-entered the room. "Okay, Boss, whatever you say."

Steve looked at Danny thoughtfully as he was standing with arms raised to allow Chin to tuck the transmitter/receiver under his shirt and lace the earwig up beyond the collar, nestling it into the hollow of his ear.

It was Steve's turn next, and Kono did the honors. Just as they were finishing up, Kamekona appeared at the double glass doors, loudly announcing he had the racing bikes Steve had asked for waiting out front. Kono and Chin went to check it out, Steve lingering just a moment with Danny by his side.

He looked down at his partner's quizzical face and said, "Thanks, man."

Danny wasn't sure if Steve was thanking him for not ranting, or thanking him for not questioning his decision in front of the rest of the team. Or maybe he was just thanking him for being alive and breathing. Or removing that piece of lint from Steve's ass pocket an hour earlier. Whichever it was, Danny was just glad Steve was developing enough mammal-to-mammal skills to actually thank him for _something_ for a change.

Sure, he gave Steve shit as much as possible, but it was usually when they were alone together. After all, Danny had been in a chain of command situation his whole working career, and no matter how much he sometimes wanted to punch his partner in front of everyone like he had their first case together, he recognized the need for everyone to see Steve as the de facto leader no matter how insane Danny found his behavior to be. That included HPD, Chin and Kono and anyone else who might come and go on their team.

Best of all, it looked like Steve was finally aware of it, and grateful for his partner's restraint.

Danny snorted as they walked out into the bright Hawaiian sun. Danny Williams? Restraint?

Who knew?

* * *

><p><strong>Way 46<strong>

Give him time to unwind for a little while after he comes home from work.

Steve expected there to be a whole houseful of people waiting for him when he walked through his front door. After all, he'd been gone for three months on a black ops mission, completely out-of-touch with his _ohana_.

But when he entered and turned off the alarm, Danny closing the door behind him quietly, he realized his house was empty.

Okay, he reasoned, maybe the notice he'd given via text telling Danny when he was arriving at the base had been too short for Danny to get things all pulled together. It was all right. He'd see the team tomorrow at the palace.

He trudged up the stairs without a word, because Danny had disappeared to God-knew-where, and Steve needed to unpack his duffel bag and get out of his drabs. He also desperately needed a shower.

Twenty long minutes later, when his muscles had finally started to relax and his aching ribcage and sore thigh had dulled to throbbing thrums of discomfort instead, Steve stepped out of the shower, dried off and headed to his bedroom to grab some clean clothes.

After three months, he figured they'd still be in decent enough shape.

He opened the drawer and frowned. He didn't usually fold his tee shirts quite that way. It looked like someone had taken them all out and refolded them and put them back. He lifted one and the smell of fabric softener wafted to his nostrils.

The shirts were freshly laundered.

He went to his closet, opened the door, and once again was assaulted by the scent of freshly-washed-and-dried clothing. His cargo pants were all hanging there in a neat row, his dress whites and dress blues and an older uniform all still in their protective bags shoved to the back. It appeared only the cargos had been washed and re-hung, and Steve smiled when he realized they were bunched together by color.

He grabbed a pair of tan ones, and went back to his dresser for some underwear. He opened the drawer. His briefs had been washed, too, and refolded neatly, but differently than Steve did it. The socks were folded into thirds and lined up neatly in the next drawer down. Steve had always balled his socks up, tucking one into the other.

Someone had done all his laundry, so his clothes would be clean and fresh. He threw everything on, ending with his work boots, and turned to inspect his bed. It was made, the sheets with the same sweet scent floating above them. But it wasn't made with Steve's usual military-grade precision, though it was still neatly done. He decided a closer look at his bathroom was in order. He hadn't even registered it before, but all his towels smelled good, and his bathroom appeared to have been at least wiped down, if not thoroughly cleaned.

Making his way down the stairs with a small smile on his face, he was surprised to find no trace of his partner anywhere. Slowly he walked into the kitchen, taking in the look of each and every room on the way. The floors seemed clean without a trace of dust on them or the furniture. Everything was sparkling, the couch pillows fluffed. The kitchen itself shone like it was brand-new. The table held a bowl of fresh sliced pineapple, mango and kiwi with a small plate and fork next to it.

Steve all-out grinned. Fresh fruit had not been on the menu on this particular mission. He sat down and starting munching through it, savoring the juice and the fresh taste of home invading his senses. He took the time to observe the kitchen more closely. There were curtains on the window that looked to have been ironed, and fresh matching hand towels and oven mitts hanging here and there. Steve hadn't had anything like that three months ago, and found that he liked the red apple motif bringing the room a splash of color.

There was also a matching rug on the floor in front of the sink. Curious, Steve pushed back from the table and stepped out onto the lanai where he found a small cooler there packed full of ice-cold beer. He sank down into one of the white beach chairs sitting right out on the water's edge, leaned back, downed half a bottle in one pull, then sighed happily.

He wasn't sure if it was his whole team who'd gone through and cleaned his place up before his return, or just Danny. He wasn't sure he could imagine even Chin getting Kono to pick up a mop or throw Steve's skivvies in the wash, and didn't that thought just make him chuckle.

Steve wondered where that partner of his had wandered off to. Of all of them, he'd missed Danny's friendship the most simply because they were the closest, though he freely admitted to himself that he'd missed them _all_ terribly. He was getting a little soft in the heart thanks to civilian life, and he knew it. But when he heard the telltale sounds of arriving vehicle engines, car doors slamming shut and voices drifting out through the open lanai doors, he figured it was worth it to have this.

This.

Three pairs of arms, three warm bodies, three smiling faces and three pairs of eyes quietly leaning forward, arms wrapped around him and each other, welcoming him home from the work he'd had to do.

His eyes met Danny's and from the smile he got, he knew the house, the laundry, and the moments for Steve to reconnect with Hawaii on his own terms had been all Danny, all the way.

And, undoubtedly also under Danny's direction, tonight would just be about the four of them. Surrounded by these men and this woman that he loved as though they were his own flesh and blood, Steve would slowly and quietly come back to them and to himself. The rest of the party with all their surfing buddies and quasi-criminal contacts and various and sundry government-related guests would come tomorrow.

Steve wondered briefly as he watched them talk quietly together a few feet away, how exactly Danny had known what he needed. He was startled to find Danny suddenly right there in front of him, leaning forward. His friend's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled and answered Steve's unspoken question.

"Simple," he said with a wink. "I know you."

Steve smiled.

Yeah. He was home.


	24. Ways 47 and 48

**Way 47**

Get up with him, even when he gets up earlier than you want to and pray with him (you can go back to bed afterward, if possible —it's a sacrifice worth making.)

"Oh, for the love of—what the hell are you doing out here? Praying?"

Steve didn't move a muscle.

Danny frowned and took in his partner's general appearance. He wore nothing but white drawstring linen pants, loose-fitting. Even his feet were bare. He was seated on top of a small dune not forty yards from the edge of the Pacific. The men had stayed at a relatively small out-of-the-way motel and when Danny had opened the doors adjoining their rooms, he'd found his partner gone.

Of course, the beach was the first place he'd looked, but he was more than a little surprised to find that instead of swimming, Steve appeared to be…meditating.

At six o'clock in the morning.

Danny sighed.

Steve's hands were palm-flat in front of his chest. His eyes were gently closed, mouth hanging open just a fraction. He seemed relaxed and yet rigidly held in the straight-backed posture he was seated in. That little line that Danny sometimes wondered about being permanently etched between Steve's eyebrows was gone.

Gone, too, was the rant Danny had prepared for when he located his wayward partner whom, he was convinced, was responsible for waking Danny up to begin with at the ungodly hour of five-thirty in the morning. There was some weird sense he had when Steve disappeared from his general area, kind of like how he'd always known Grace had wandered out of her toddler bed to explore the house on her own in the middle of the night.

He chalked it up to being a father and left it at that.

Most of all, Danny noted, as he stood and watched Steve's slow, deep, even breaths, Steve looked serene. He usually saw his partner intense, angry, and even happy and laughing when the occasion called for it. But serenity was a face he'd only seen Steve wear in sleep, and even then – more often than not – his brow was puckered in worry.

Slowly Danny lowered himself to the sand a couple feet to Steve's right, mindful of the fact he'd be shaking sand out of his boxer briefs later in spite of the fact that he was wearing full-length track pants. He'd also be dumping sand out of his sneakers and undoubtedly would find it in between his toes in spite of the socks he wore.

And don't even get him started on his chest hairs.

But as he stared – and there was no way to pretend that's not what it was – at Steve's face, Danny felt himself start to relax as well. Whatever it was his partner was giving off, Danny was feeling it, and he turned to look at the ocean before them. There were no swells, just regular waves lapping at the shore one after the other.

It took him a few minutes to realize Steve's inhalations were timed with those waves. And that his exhalations were, too. Maybe there was a reason Steve had seen fit to meditate this morning rather than punish his body with a five-klick swim. Maybe it was because today they were going to be starting undercover work here on the island of Lana'i, posing as potential buyers of black market babies.

The thought made Danny shudder. No wonder Steve needed some peace of mind. Danny hadn't slept well at all and thought maybe, though he'd always believed this type of thing was for sissies, meditation wasn't such a bad way to try and ground yourself before taking on something as sinister as they were about to. After all, no SEAL was a sissy, and Danny had proof enough of that.

Some time passed, but Danny had become so lost in his thoughts, in the soothing effect of their location and the steadiness of his partner beside him, that he didn't realize when Steve rose to his feet. He didn't notice when Steve's eyes widened in surprise when they found Danny seated cross-legged with his hands palm-flat in front of his chest. He wasn't prepared to hear Steve's voice so very close to his ear.

And so when Steve very quietly asked, "What the hell are you doing out here? Praying?" – well, Danny felt fully justified in wrestling his partner to the ground, straddling his legs, and dumping two handfuls of sand down his pants.

He was especially gleeful twenty minutes later when he discovered, thanks to the open door between their rooms, that Steve hadn't been wearing underwear.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 48<strong>

Be his "help-mate" in whatever ways you sense he needs it.

Steve didn't say a word when Danny clutched his elbow and helped him off the hospital bed.

He didn't look at Danny when he untied the gown at the nape of Steve's neck and the waist.

He didn't blink when Danny pulled the gown off Steve's arms and tossed it haphazardly to the bed Steve had so recently occupied.

Danny didn't blink as he pulled Steve's briefs and shorts up the length of his legs and seated them around his waist.

Danny didn't look at the 6 x 9 gauze taped to Steve's right pec when he eased the short-sleeve button-down shirt over his arms and slowly buttoned it from the bottom up.

Danny didn't say a word as Steve signed himself out of the hospital and allowed Danny to help him to the passenger side of the Camaro.

Steve didn't need to speak, because Danny already knew Steve would do it all again if he had to, to save Danny's life.

Steve didn't need to look at his partner to see the additional worry lines throwing himself in front of the bullet speeding toward Danny's skull had embedded into his forehead and around his eyes.

Steve couldn't allow himself to blink for fear that the moisture in his eyes would suddenly be released.

Danny didn't blink because he was afraid the reality where Steve survived taking a bullet for him would suddenly disappear.

Danny didn't look at Steve for fear he'd relive the moments when Steve had hit the tarmac with a resounding thud and then not moved a muscle.

Danny couldn't speak, because he knew his voice would not be steady if he did.

So Danny simply helped.

And Steve simply thanked every god there was, that Danny was alive to do so.


	25. Ways 49 and 50

_Author's Note: Contains Season 2 spoilers, including for episodes not yet aired._

**Way 49**

Participate in shoulder-to-shoulder activities with him (like watching a movie and such) without talking. Sometimes men just like to BE with you and not talk.

Danny was a little mystified by the whole thing, but time with his baby girl was time with his baby girl, so he was loathe to actually put voice to the parts of it that mystified him.

One of the things he did frequently with Grace on weekends they had together, was take her to the movies. However, for the past month solid, Five-0 had been run ragged. It seemed ever since the new governor reinstated the team, and ever since Kono's behavior had – maybe understandably – changed for the worse, they hadn't had a single full weekend they could call their own.

The first weekend had been them working with a brand-new teammate, riding horses on Lana'i (that would never have happened in Jersey), and getting a fifteen-year old girl back to her adoptive parents and real mother.

The second weekend had involved their fearless leader skydiving out of an airplane to save the life of a fellow SEAL. Paperwork swallowed Danny whole on that one, not to mention the mental image that replaced the faces of the SEALs that participated in Operation Payback with Steve's.

The weekend after that involved going way too far underwater for Danny's comfort, although he'd really, really liked Dr. Asano and was secretly hoping he could see her again real soon.

Assuming they got a weekend off, that was.

Then the fourth weekend, a full month after the governor had said yeah, sure, you can have Five-0 back, but under my rules, the personal lives of the cousins had taken sharp turns alongside a murder that kept both Steve and Danny in the newspaper headlines for a week until they solved it.

Now it was the fifth weekend – or almost, anyway, given that it was ten o'clock on a Friday night – and for a nice change of pace, there were no active cases assigned to Five-0, nobody getting kidnapped, blown up, drowned or shot at…and nothing but the flickering lights of the television in Steve's living room and the sounds of a fantastical tale playing out in the movie Grace had selected for them to watch.

It had started innocently enough. Danny had to be at Rachel and Stan's by five-thirty or they'd be taking her with them to the opera. He'd do anything to spare his precious daughter from having to go to whatever passed for opera in this state.

Steve had left his truck at home that morning because Danny had swung by to pick him up, and they were late leaving the office.

"I have to get to Rachel's," Danny had apologized with fingers waggling in the air.

"No problem, I don't mind coming along," Steve had said.

And that was how, once Grace realized Steve was there, he'd been talked into a rental of the movie _Avatar_ that Grace had been wanting to see "For_ever_, Danno!" and how Danny had been talked into the fact that watching it at Steve's place would "be a lot more comfortable than watching it in your shithole, Danny."

What Steve lacked in the finer points of communication, he made up for in generosity. So in the interest of _not_ reliving the constant fighting that had turned Rachel's and his marriage into something of a sparring ring toward the end of their marriage, Danny had let the dig pass without so much as a raised eyebrow.

Besides, what Steve didn't know yet – what _nobody_ knew yet – was that Danny's apartment was only going to be Danny's apartment for another two weeks. After that, he wasn't quite sure _what_ he was going to do. But that could wait.

Because tonight he was sitting on Steve's couch, with Steve sprawled and relaxed to his right, and Gracie equally sprawled and relaxed to his left. The only difference was that Steve's head was propped on his right hand which was being held up by an elbow propped on the armrest of the couch. And Grace's head was propped on Danny's shoulder, his arm around her back and holding her tightly to him as she slept through the end of the movie.

"Thanks for this," Danny said in a whisper.

Steve nodded almost imperceptibly, eyes glued to the screen. Danny smiled. Obviously Steve was actually enjoying this movie, and while normally the imp in him would be making sure Steve completely missed the last ten minutes, this time he stayed silent, smoothing his hand down Grace's long, brown hair and dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

She snuffled a bit, shifted against him, and wrapped her left arm around his torso. He felt, more than heard, Steve jump and make a small noise in his throat. When he turned his head, Danny saw why.

That hand of Grace's that had snaked around his chest, had wound up grasping Steve's bicep with a grip that Danny found impressive for a little girl. He looked at Steve apologetically. Steve, whose eyes were glued to the hold Grace had on him. Danny lifted his hand to work her fingers loose, and was surprised when Steve stopped him by placing a hand over his in mid-air.

Their eyes met. Steve shook his head, then smiled softly as he pulled his hand away. Their eyes moved back to the screen just as the main character's girlfriend – or whatever she was – placed a mask over his face to save his life.

See, Danny might be a stubborn sonofabitch, but he was learning.

He was learning to accept the fact that he was in Hawaii to stay. He was learning to accept the fact that Steve was the way he was for a _reason_, not because he suffered from any mental deficiencies.

He was learning that maybe Hawaii was a little bit too hot and humid to strangle himself with a tie every day of the week. He was learning, rather painfully, that in most cases you can't go back – as he'd tried to do with Rachel – you can only go forward.

And he was learning that even after the clusterfuck that had been the most recent Rachel fiasco, he actually felt serenely happy and strangely content doing nothing more than he was doing right now:

Sitting quietly on a comfortable couch in a beautiful beach house with the two people he loved most outside of his family in Jersey on either side of him.

Hawaii wasn't bad, he thought as the realization struck. It wasn't bad at all.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: One tiny spoiler from Season 1 episode 'Loa Aloha' in here.<em>

**Way 50**

Be a student of his ways so you show your love in ways he best comprehends it.

Steve was nothing if not adaptable.

He prided himself on having at least four plans of attack for any given situation, and it wasn't just those involving guns and bad guys and police sirens. No, he generally had a plan of some sort for every occasion in life, whether it was planning a team barbecue, going surfing, how to spend a Saturday or painting the outside of the house.

And yet if some monkey wrench got thrown into whatever his plans had been, he was always easily able to skirt left around the issue or make a U-turn when required, or even go off in a whole new direction if that was the way things wanted to go.

It had been something he'd gotten good at during his time in the Navy, and something he carried with him that had served him well both as a task force leader and in his personal life.

Until now.

Danny's apartment was currently a No-Fly Zone thanks to a building inspector's insistence to the landlord that the place was absolutely not up to code thanks to salty sea air having corroded far too many wires for his liking. And so the building was being completely rewired, forcing Danny and all his neighbors to vacate for six full days.

The unfortunate thing for Danny in all this, was that it was his weekend with Grace, which sort of left him homeless and not really wanting to spend a few hundred bucks to put the two of them up in a hotel for two days and three nights, not to mention paying for another four nights just for himself.

The _fortunate_ thing for Danny in all this, was that Steve had been nearby when Danny had finished giving his landlord shit over the phone, and had said, "I have way more bedrooms than I need, Danny, you guys can hang out with me this weekend." Just like that, Steve had decided that they would have a fun couple of days together which would involve his beach, his barbecue grill and maybe even a road trip to sightsee.

Danny hadn't seemed to mind, and Steve had been glad for the company. Besides, he got a kick out of Grace, who always seemed to look at him with the same critical eye for detail Danny possessed as a cop. He wondered if kids were just _born_ cops and then thought back to the story Matt had told in happier days of Danny handcuffing him at the zoo – with plastic handcuffs, no less – when he was only nine.

Yes, Steve had decided kids were definitely born cops. He wondered how many years it'd be before Grace made captain of HPD and the thought had him grinning until the moment Danny had said, very early on Sunday morning over coffee, "Crap, I have to run back to my place, I left the Dovilliet file there and we need to go over a couple things before we hit the office tomorrow."

Well, that would've been okay. A quick trip in the Camaro back to Danny's wouldn't take that long, except for one thing.

"Grace is still asleep. She'll probably be out for another hour or two since it's Sunday. I should be back before she wakes up."

With that, he was out the door, keys in hand. It wasn't until Steve heard the Camaro's engine rev and then fade away that it occurred to him he was alone in his house with a ten-year old girl that wasn't his, and no clue what to do with her when she rolled out of bed.

Well, Danny had said he'd be back before she got up, right? So there. That was fine. He'd just…he looked around the kitchen…she would need breakfast, right? Kids needed a good breakfast. He thought back to his childhood and his mother cooking him eggs, sausage, toast with butter and jelly. She'd have a glass of orange juice or milk, whichever he felt like that day, and sit and drink her coffee while he packed it away.

She always joked he had a hollow leg, and "Where the heck do you put it all, Stevie?" while ruffling his hair while he grinned and gave the obligatory adolescent grumblings over the fond gesture.

Breakfast. Right. He'd start breakfast.

But wait, would she remember where the bathroom was when she got up? What was she even wearing, did she need to get clean clothes on? Where were they, in her backpack? Did she shower first before getting dressed on a Sunday? Was she wearing a nightgown? Pajamas? Steve sat there, eyes widening as every thought pinged scarily to another new one, sometimes having absolutely nothing to do with the one before it.

Did she wake up grumpy or happy? Would she be scared when she learned her Danno wasn't there, that she was all alone with 'Uncle Steve,' or would it not bother her in the least? Did she maybe not like eggs or sausage, but want some sort of kids cereal like Lucky Charms instead? Did she not like sugar? Did she prefer cranberry juice over orange? Did she want fruit for breakfast? Did she think she was going to get a Toaster Strudel instead of just toast?

Was she supposed to brush her teeth as soon as she got up and oh, crap, did he have spare clean towels if she wanted to take a shower? Did she take showers or did he need to fill up the tub for a bath? Did he have bubble bath stuffed into the back of a cupboard somewhere? Did she use washcloths or those poofy things like Mary used? Did Grace want to watch TV in the morning or listen to music? Was she allowed to watch cartoons? Was she supposed to go to church?

Oh, God, was she supposed to get all dolled up in a dress and patent leather shoes and pretty ponytails and oh, Christ, he didn't even know how to comb a girl's hair. He'd never combed Mary's, but he knew that girls got tangles in their hair and what if she asked him to comb her hair and he pulled too hard and made her _cry_?

Steve was beginning to believe he was no longer adaptable at all.

He sat there in a mild panic, frozen to the seat, until an insistent tugging on the shoulder of his tee shirt finally brought him crashing back down to reality. He turned his head to find himself staring into big, brown eyes.

"Uncle Steve?"

He cleared his throat and was pleased by how normal his voice sounded. "Good morning, Grace."

"Where's Danno?"

Oh, God, this was it. She was going to have a freakout or something, he just _knew_ it, because "He had to run back to his apartment for something. He'll be back in a few." He smiled. Smiles always disarmed kids, right?

"Oh, okay," she said, and turned to head back out of the kitchen, rubbing her eyes as she went.

He breathed a sigh of relief but was only halfway through the breath when it hitched in his throat as her voice said, "Uncle Steve?"

"Yeah, Gracie." Nice, even voice. God bless Navy training.

He found himself with a sudden lapful of gangly little girl, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder, and her voice mumbling into it, "Danno always gives me a good morning hug."

He was surprised for half a second, but then his arms wound around her and he squeezed her gently. "I'm honored," he said as she settled against him comfortably. "Thank you."

Steve couldn't help but flinch a bit, though, when a different and yet still soft voice startled him. He looked up to find Danny standing there in front of him looking like the happiest man on the face of the earth as he said, "Looks like I've been replaced."

And because Steve was nothing if not adaptable, he smiled back at his partner and said, "No, not replaced." He gave Grace another squeeze and said, "Joined."

Danny's responding grin told him that his adaptability to this new situation was working out just fine.


	26. Ways 51 and 52

**Way 51**

When your husband is in a bad mood give him time to recover. Don't crowd him.

"—last time I am ever going to say this to you, so listen, Steven J. McGarrett and listen well."

Steve braced himself.

"You are _not_, and I repeat _not_ and I'll add _ever_ to that, going to do this to me a_gain_. _Ever_."

Steve bit his lip.

Danny was pissed off.

Not just his usual ruffled-feather ranting.

Not his normal bluster with a twinkle in his eye.

Not simply the flash-in-the-pan temper tantrum that blew over as soon as Danny ran out of steam.

No.

This time, Steve knew, he had gone too far and pushed Danny into "I am so fucking pissed off right now the top of my head is going to blow like one of your goddamn Hawaiian volcanoes!" mad.

Shit.

He watched Danny stalk out of the bullpen.

He watched until he couldn't see Danny in the hall anymore.

He felt Chin approach and lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Give him some time to chill, _brah_."

"But he's really mad this time."

"It'll blow over."

Steve didn't think so.

Shit, _shit_.

He loped out of the bullpen.

He loped down the hall.

He loped up the stairs and out into the pouring rain.

He stopped in his tracks as his eyes found Danny.

On the ground.

Not moving.

Steve was at his side lickety-split.

Unconscious.

_He's alive_.

Steve was on his phone fast as lightning.

Breathing.

_Help, I need help!_

Steve was hunching over his partner's face to keep the downpour from drowning him.

Pale.

_Danny!_

Steve felt like his father was sending him away all over again. He was glad it was raining so no one could tell.

* * *

><p>Danny had been in the hospital for four days.<p>

Chin reported to Steve that Danny had suffered an allergic reaction to an antibiotic prescription he'd only just begun taking that morning for a mild infection in his foot from stepping on a piece of glass at the beach during his weekend with Grace.

Danny was as shocked as anyone to find out he was allergic to sulphas.

And he kept asking where McGarrett was.

But Steve still felt responsible for what had happened to him, because Danny could've died and it was because Steve was always giving him such shit about going to the beach that Danny felt he had to prove something and take Grace to a place he hated. Where he'd stepped on glass. And his foot had become infected. So he'd needed antibiotics. And had an allergic reaction.

"If you hadn't ignored my advice," Chin said as Steve walked into the hall just outside Danny's room, "he might not have made it."

Steve thought about that for a moment. Chin had told him to leave Danny alone to cool off. Steve had refused to listen. Steve had found him.

And saved his life.

It made him feel a little better. So he walked into Danny's room.

Danny looked at him.

Steve smiled, just a little.

Danny smiled, just a little.

"Thanks," Danny said with a twitch of his index finger.

Steve just nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Don't think, though," Danny continued, "that this gets you off the hook for storing a _machine gun_ in the trunk of _my car_."

It was delivered with force, but much less loud than normal.

"I'm sorry, Danny. I was just…taking it back to where I'd gotten it, I forgot it was there."

Danny blew out a puff of air and glared at his partner. "I drive my _daughter_ in that car, Steven. I put her beach things in that trunk. She stands there while I'm unloading it."

"I know, I know," Steve said, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry."

"You made up for it, you freaking SEAL ninja from hell."

Steve brightened. "Really?"

"Yes. But—" Danny held up a finger in a very good imitation of his Jewish grandmother, "—that machine gun _will be gone_ by the time I'm discharged tonight. _Are we clear_."

It wasn't a question. Steve replied anyway, with a vigorous nod. Then he got a mischievous grin. "You do realize," he said languidly, body relaxing as he sauntered closer to Danny's bed, "that this means I'm never leaving you by yourself again, right?"

"_Nurse_!" Danny bellowed, much to Steve's amusement. "_Bring me some sulphas now_!"

* * *

><p><strong>Way 52<strong>

Help him to finish his goals, hobbies, or education when you see he needs it.

Step 1: Get the Camaro washed, detailed and waxed.

Check.

Step 2: Finish putting all the photos of Grace, Grace and Danny, Grace and Steve, Grace and Chin, Grace and Kono, Grace and multiples of said-same, including Kamekona, into photo albums in time-stamped order.

_Jesus Christ_.

Check.

Step 3: Approve the request for a 1-week absence from Five-0 to attend a conference in New Jersey on—

_Okay, no. No fucking way._

* * *

><p>"Danny?"<p>

"Mm?"

"Mind telling me why, exactly, I'm sending you to a week-long police seminar on…Wicklander-Zulawski Non-Confrontational Criminal Interview & Interrogation…in Edison, New Jersey in November," Steve said, reading off the form he held in his hand, "when that same course is being held in Honolulu two weeks from now and is only a day long?"

"Because you are trying to help me get through all the things I want to get through on my bucket list before you kill me."

"I cleaned the Camaro. This was on your bucket list?"

Danny nodded slowly.

"I organized all your photos into albums. That took me _two weeks_, Danny. That was on your bucket list?"

Danny nodded slowly.

"So taking a course on non-confrontational criminal interview and interrogation in New Jer—" His face twisted a little, eyes growing wide, and he looked straight at Danny. "I'm going with you."

"And _that_ was on my bucket list, too."

"Staying with your folks?"

"Nope," Danny replied with great smugness achieved. "Getting _you_ to a class on how to interrogate suspects _without_ extreme prejudice, my friend."

"I've just been had," Steve groused, but was secretly happy to be heading to Danny's parents for some of his mom's home-cooked meals. "And do _not_ tell me _that_ was on your bucket list."

Danny mimed zipping his lips, but his smile, complete with the crinkled corners of his eyes and twinkling blue irises, said it all.


	27. Ways 53 and 54

_Author's Note: Way 53 assumes nothing beyond Season 1 Finale has occurred. There are spoilers for various Season 1 occurrences._

**Way 53**

Treat him as if God has stamped on his forehead: _"Handle With Care."_

He was the strongest, most fiery, sometimes most infuriating man Steve knew. And he didn't mean strong in a physical sense because no matter how scrappy Danny might be in a fistfight, it was the inner strength he'd seen with his own eyes that at times, made Steve want to spend hours puzzling it over until he could figure it out. Figure _Danny_ out.

Because there were those moments where a lesser man might have been reduced to unmanly bouts of tears, like when he'd had to face his little brother down and let him go off to an unknown fate. Whether Danny had cried or not when he'd gone to tell Rachel, Steve didn't know. But Danny post-Matt was strong and never once broke down in front of Steve in any way.

Moments like when Grace and Rachel were carjacked, sometimes Steve would see a chink in the internal armor, such as over the phone when Danny had called his best friend to help talk him down so he didn't beat the ever-loving shit out of Step-Stan. Yet even that could be chalked up to Danny's fortitude, because not only had he been protecting his daughter, but he'd known himself well enough to know he needed to lean on Steve. It takes a lot of courage for a man to ask for help.

Danny's defense mechanism for when something scares him, hurts him or blindsides him is no secret. His hands talk as much as his mouth. His eyes, maybe even moreso. When he yells at Steve for diving into a firefight headfirst, there's care and concern in those eyes. When he gesticulates so fast Steve wonders if he'll actually launch himself into space with the wind shear, it's just because there's so much _Danny_ inside of Danny's skin that he might spontaneously combust if he didn't have a way to release at least a portion of it into the ether.

But it's times like this, when there's no one else around, when Danny's been prematurely stilled by a knife he was milliseconds too slow to dodge, when he lies bleeding from his stomach while Steve presses so, _so_ hard against the wound to try and stop it, that Steve feels that inner strength down deep in his soul.

Danny's eyes flicker open and focus on Steve's. He gives Steve the ghost of a smile and manages to lay his hand where Steve's are flattened against the knife wound. He squeezes Steve's hand just the tiniest bit and he whispers for Steve not to worry.

How can Steve _not_?

But Danny whispers that Steve shouldn't worry, because he's not going to leave Grace, and he's certainly not going to leave Steve, Kono and Chin.

And if ever there was physical proof of the inner strength Danny came hardwired with, it's two days later when Danny has defied the odds and begun to heal. As if through nothing but sheer willpower he forced himself to make it even with three organs sliced clean through, losing more blood than his body should've been able to handle.

Steve's always considered himself strong, both physically and mentally. But when Danny's eyelids flutter open, when he gives Steve that same small smile, and when he whispers, "See? Told you," it's all Steve can do not to break right there.

And Steve realizes in that moment that it's not just his own training and strength of character and personality that's kept him sane throughout everything that's happened in the past year, everything he's learned about himself and his family. It's what Danny's got inside that he so willingly shares when Steve needs it most.

So if his touch is a tad gentler than usual when he skims his fingertips over Danny's arms by way of greeting; if he smooths Danny's errant hair back from his forehead to get it out of his eyes; if he is slow and careful when one by one he places ice chips against his partner's lips, it's only because he's just come to understand how much he needs him.

And if the look on Danny's face is any indication, he's just started to understand it, too.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Way 54 occurs during Season 1 some time prior to Episode 23.<em>

**Way 54**

Work to get rid of habits that annoy him.

Thing is, Danny's fully aware of the fact that he's got some of the most annoying habits on the face of the earth. Rachel has made each and every one of his faults abundantly clear.

For one thing, Danny snores. He can't help it, he was born with a deviated septum and quite frankly isn't keen on some doctor going up through his nose, breaking stuff behind it and reforming it, and then spending a week with gauze stuffed up his nostrils, thanks so much.

For another thing, Danny waves his hands around a lot, which has been known to send glasses of red wine toppling onto white tablecloths and carpeting, or unintentionally whack someone in the arm hard enough to leave a bruise, and even on one occasion got a cup of coffee all over a former partner's uniform.

And then there's the whole verboseness and yeah, Danny's self-aware enough to recognize that he flaps his lips like that's all that keeps him alive. But that, well, Danny's got a good reason for that. It stems back to his childhood, to being the shortest of four siblings, the shortest in every single grade, and the only one of his family to have blue eyes and blond hair. He got ignored a lot. His family didn't ignore him on purpose but Christ, with four kids, a firefighter husband and more relatives than you could shake a stick at, sometimes the short one got lost in all the activity. So Danny learned that to get attention, he had to yap and occasionally do class clown routines.

And on the playground, the bigger kids either ignored him or tried to beat him up. He preferred being ignored to beat up, but very often to get _out_ of getting beat up he had to do a lot of fast and smooth-talking. It didn't always work, but Danny had far fewer black eyes through his childhood than you might've thought he would because of it.

He had to be larger than life to survive bullies, and then to convince other cops that he was as tough as they were. And _then_ to get perps to take him seriously. You'd be surprised how many weren't fazed by a guy wielding a weapon just because that guy was only five-foot-five.

And the other thing Danny's really aware of is that he cares way too much, too fast and too hard for people, and that often leads to him getting his heart broken by both friends and lovers. It seems like it takes a nanosecond for him to fall _in_ love, and then something like a century to fall _out_ of love.

So when he realizes he cares a lot about the nutjob who forced him to be his partner…when he realizes he cares a lot about a veteran cop who was wronged by both HPD and his own family…when he realizes he cares a lot about the rookie who sports a set of steel ones very few _men_ do…well, it scares the hell out of him.

Because, it seems, when he cares this much, he always gets hurt.

So he rants. And he raves. He waves his hands around. He belittles Steve's mental capacity on a regular basis. He yells. He scowls. He argues.

But underneath it all, the only thing that happens is that he falls more and more in love with his _ohana_.

So maybe he starts dialing back on the ranting and raving a bit.

And maybe his hands hold still and make little circles out of his fingers and thumbs rather than flipping through the air like karate chops.

And maybe he doesn't bust Steve's ass so much these days.

Because here in Hawaii, surrounded by Grace, Chin, Kono and Steve, he's not in danger of being hurt like he always has been. This time, his love won't be thrown back in his face or his heart dropped like a hot potato. These people _care_ about him. They _love_ him. And so maybe he can tone it down a little, for their sakes.

Not totally, of course. After all, he's still Danny.


	28. Ways 55 and 56

**Way 55**

Be kind and thoughtful to his relatives. Don't make him choose between you.

At first, the whole thing was a little tough for Steve to deal with.

On a Friday, sometimes you just wanted to unwind. In the SEALs, it was always whatever night fell at the successful completion of a mission. Or even an unsuccessful one, really – sometimes, you needed to unwind (or drown your sorrows) even more in those cases.

And so it was with Five-0. They'd been together three months now, and while their cases rarely actually ended before a Friday night, sometimes they did indeed catch a break and get to go out and enjoy the pre-weekend nightlife in Honolulu as a team, and as friends.

Only most of the time, Danny was noticeably absent.

It was for a good reason – the best, really, as far as Danny was concerned. He always was apologetic and even seemed a little regretful when he declined because he had to pick Grace up from school or from Rachel's later in the evening.

Steve could get behind the logic. The fact that Grace was Danny's world. The fact that Danny would never have been in their lives to begin with if not for how vitally important Grace was to him.

But it was tough, after a grueling case where they'd spent long hours together running high on adrenaline or with their heads together trying to put puzzle pieces in place, or dodging and shooting in one of their many firefights, or running like the wind to chase a suspect. It was tough after any or all or most of that shoulder-to-shoulder in-the-midst-of-battle time to not really get to unwind with his partner.

Steve wasn't entirely sure why it bothered him so much, but it did.

He knew he was becoming a little tough to deal with when Chin raised an eyebrow at him after he snarked at Danny without thinking.

Danny just scowled.

He knew he was becoming a little off-kilter when Kono stopped him from pacing past the computer table for the fiftieth time in a row by physically getting in his path, grabbing his biceps and telling him in no uncertain terms to "STOP!"

Danny was in his office, so Steve didn't know if he'd heard or seen any of that, but it was a little embarrassing nonetheless.

He knew he was really not playing fair because how the hell could he begrudge Danny the few hours with Grace that made his life complete just because he wanted to toss back some beers and shoot the shit with his friend? How selfish could a guy be and when the hell had Steve become such a pussy, anyway?

Two-thirty rolled around one Friday afternoon about a month after all this had really started to bother him. Danny pushed Steve's office door open halfway, jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "I have to go get Grace."

Steve swallowed hard and looked at his computer screen. "Sure thing, Danny. Have a great weekend."

But Danny didn't move. He was just sort of…hovering…looking like he wasn't quite sure whether to stay or go.

So Steve raised his eyes and frowned a bit at the indecisive look on his partner's face. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just, uh…" Danny jerked his thumb over his shoulder again. "You want to maybe, I don't know, have some beers?"

Steve blinked. Had he landed in Bizarro-World? "I thought you had Grace tonight."

"I do, I do, but that doesn't mean we can't, you know, hang out and unwind with a couple of beers."

Danny looked a little unsure of himself, which was a rare occurrence for the man. Steve tilted his head a bit. This wasn't a possibility that had occurred to him, actually, and he suddenly felt like a really giant dork. Kind of like he was in high school again, altogether too gangly to navigate life without constantly stumbling and tripping.

Suddenly Danny didn't seem so unsure, and his voice was strong and steady when he said, "I don't have to choose between you, you know." Then he added, "At least, I don't _want_ to."

A smile spread across Steve's face very, very slowly as it sank in. "Bring her over around six. I'll heat up the coals, we'll have a team barbecue."

Danny's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "You're on, and I'll bring the beer," he said. Then he winked, pivoted and was out of there like a shot.

Steve grinned as he headed out to the bullpen to let the cousins know. Sometimes things that seemed like such big problems had such simple solutions. Maybe he'd spent so long in Naval Intelligence, he'd forgotten that.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 56<strong>

Don't compare his relatives with yours in a negative way.

"_Ohana_ is seriously not the same thing, Kono."

"Well, no, I mean, you weren't born with the same blood flowing through your veins, but think about it: with _ohana_, you get to _choose_ who's part of your family instead of being stuck with whoever you're born to."

"Oh, you mean like the ten thousand people on this island you and Chin are related to as opposed to the ten thousand people in New Jersey, New York and Connecticut that _I__'__m_ related to?"

"Your family's that big?"

"Kono, you have _no_ idea. I sympathize with you two, really, I do."

"What are you two talking about?"

"Hey, look, it's Commander Buttinski."

"Boss, that's a new scowl."

"Fine, have your conversation."

"We were just talking about _ohana_."

"_Ohana,_ huh?"

"Yeah, I was explaining to Danny why _ohana_ is better than the family you're born into."

"Ah."

"Ah? Seriously? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you _want_ me to say, Danny?"

"Something a little less caveman than 'ah,' I would hope, but never mind."

"Hey, guys, just got a text from Chin, I've gotta run."

"_Ohana_ thing?"

"I should be so lucky, Danny. No, a 'family' thing."

"Oh, okay. See you."

"Catch you later, guys."

…

…

"Steve, sorry about that."

"About what?"

"Talking about the whole…you know…'family you're born into' thing."

"Why are you sorry? You can talk about anything you want."

"It was a little insensitive."

…

…

"And Lord knows you're the sensitive one, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sensitive. Asshole."

"My family was okay when it was together, Danny. It's not that sore of a spot with me."

"And you're _not_ the sensitive one."

"Nope."

"You know, I oughtta take you back home with me one day and introduce you to the extensive, loud and raucous Williams family."

"Are you sure I'd get through a day with them?"

"I was thinking more like a week."

"A _week_ with your family? Why?"

"To show you that sometimes blood relatives _can_ be as good as _ohana_."

"You mean like your Great Aunt Di who pinches your cheeks every time she sees you and asks when you're going to settle down already and then proceeds to explain to anyone who will listen that she thinks you must be gay because it's the only reason a Williams man wouldn't already have been married a second time by now?"

…

…

"Maybe we'll just hang out here."

"I thought you might see it that way."


	29. Ways 57 and 58

**Way 57**

Thank him for things he's done around the house. (It means a lot to men).

The following is a copy and paste of one particular set of instant messages (because Danny likes having blackmail material and is really happy they were able to clone Microsoft Office Communicator for use inside Five-0) which will forever go down in McDanno history as The Most Roundabout Way to Thank Someone in the History of All Time. Danny has also given it the following subtitle: Without Actually Thanking Them At All (or: SEALs Are Emotionally Constipated and I Have Proof).

Danny's also wondering where the hell the term "McDanno" came from. He doesn't like it.

Steve, on the other hand, thinks it's catchy.

* * *

><p>10:08 a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: Danny.<p>

10:08 a.m. Daniel A. Williams: Steve.

10:11 a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: What happened to that pile of boxes by my back door?

10:12 a.m. Daniel A. Williams You mean the boxes full of crap from your childhood closet?

10:20 a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: That wasn't crap, Danny, that was stuff from when I was a kid.

10:21 a.m. Daniel A. Williams: Hence why it was in your childhood closet, so my superior deductive reasoning would deduce.

10:22a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: Hence?

10:22a.m. Daniel A. Williams: Do not mock my vocabulary.

10:25a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: You didn't answer my question.

10:26a.m. Daniel A. Williams: The boxes of your crap…sorry…stuff…from your childhood which you removed from the closet in your childhood room and piled next to your back door have been sealed – ha, SEALed – and labeled and stacked on shelves in your garage.

10:33a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: You didn't have to do that.

10:34a.m. Daniel A. Williams: I am very well aware that I did not have to do that. However, because I am also very well aware of certain issues you might be prone to experiencing when anything having to do with your childhood comes into play, I thought perhaps I would save myself having to look at that pile of boxes every single time I come to leave crumbs on your table by taking matters into my own hands.

10:40a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: So you moved the boxes because you're a neat freak.

10:41a.m. Daniel A. Williams: I will admit to having a certain desire for things to remain tidy. I will cop to 'neat freak' which, I should point out here, is a much more lofty moniker than 'freak' which is what I might label you, my friend.

10:50a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: Moniker, huh?

10:50a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: OK

10:51a.m. Daniel A. Williams: OK? That's what you're going with?

10:56a.m. Steven J. McGarrett: Yes?

10:57a.m. Daniel A. Williams: Freak.

* * *

><p>(It should be noted here that, in Steve's defense, he <em>did<em> purchase a six-pack of beer and even visited Danny's shithole apartment with it. And wound up _staying_ until they'd finished the six-pack. This, however, is countered by Danny's complaint that due to said drinking of beers, one Steven J. My-Arms-And-Legs-Are-Freakishly-Long McGarrett subsequently fell asleep on the fold-out and wound up nearly suffocating one long-suffering detective. Who, had he decided perhaps McGarrett's gesture of beer was indeed meant as a thank-you for the whole Box-Removal Incident, found the sentiment wholly negated when he was moved to near-homicide during the wee hours after finding himself precariously perched on the metal bar at the edge of his fold-out. Which explained why he wound up sleeping on the floor.)

(It should further be noted that when McGarrett awoke the next morning and realized Danny had let him get a good night's sleep by not waking him up to move him "the _hell_ off my bed!" at two-thirty in the morning – and had gotten no sleep whatsoever due to having tried to accomplish the elusive feat of sleeping on the hard floor – he decided it might be a good idea to try the Six-Pack-of-Beers Maneuver again since he couldn't just open his mouth and say "Thank you." And therefore it's entirely possible that Danny showed remarkable restraint in _not_ shooting Steve in the face before sending him out the front door for malasadas and coffee.)

But, you know, whatever happens with childhood boxes and inside shithole apartments is really nobody's business but theirs.

Until Danny decides he wants revenge for the I Slept On the Floor For You Incident's subsequent week-long backache. Then all bets are off.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Way 58 occurs prior to the last three episodes of Season 1.<em>

**Way 58**

Don't expect credit for all you do for him. Do it as "unto the Lord."

"Detective Williams, do you know why I asked for this meeting?"

"No, Governor Jameson."

She smiled, rose to her feet, and picked up a frame from her desk that honestly, Danny hadn't even noticed. "Would you rise, please?"

Danny stood, hands clammy, wondering if he was about to be stripped of his badge for all those times Steve had made him do shit that didn't just _border_ on illegal, but in many cases, actually _was_.

Rat bastard. Danny was going to kill him. Just add that to the list of illegal shit.

"It is my honor, on behalf of the State of Hawaii, the Honolulu Police Department, and the Five-0 Task Force, to bestow upon you _this_." She stopped in front of him and read from the piece of paper mounted inside the frame.

Danny was suddenly confused as hell, because surely they didn't give out certificates when you got kicked off the force.

"The State of Hawaii and the Honolulu Police Department," she read, "are honored to name Detective Daniel Williams of the Hawaii Five-0 special task force 'Officer of the Year.'"

Danny's jaw dropped. To say he was gobsmacked would be the understatement of the year.

"For service above and beyond the call of duty…"

Okay, well, considering he was Steve McGarrett's partner, that was certainly accurate.

"For placing his life in great peril on a daily basis…"

Again, chalk that one up to Steve.

"For doing everything he can to keep the State of Hawaii safe for all Hawaiians and guests…"

Well, of course! After all, Gracie now calls this place home.

"And for continuing to display great courage and willingness to sacrifice…"

He just didn't have a comeback for that one.

Even his mind was speechless.

"It is our great privilege to bestow this award on this tenth day of May, two thousand and eleven."

Jameson offered the certificate in her left hand, and then reached out and shook his hand with her right. Someone who'd snuck in when Danny was busy with his speechless mind snapped two photos and then was gone.

"I…" he started, but failed to finish.

"Detective Williams, you will be expected at the 200 Club's awards ceremony eight days from today. You will receive a hand-delivered invitation, and your entire team is also invited for the informal but highly visible," she emphasized that last word even without italics, "bestowment of this award."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," Danny managed to say, albeit somewhat breathlessly as he took the framed certificate and stared at it like it might be one of those secret agent messages that blows up after you listen to it.

"Now go out there and keep on making me proud," she said, waving her hand at him to indicate dismissal, but still with that frighteningly happy smile on her face.

Danny supposed it probably made her look _really_ good to have a member of _her_ task force named Officer of the Year.

But you had to be nominated for this stuff, and Danny knew it.

He made it to the parking lot, got his car door open, and wondered who the hell would've nominated the _haole_ that everyone in HPD was glad to get rid of when he'd gotten commandeered by St—

Noooo. No freakin' way. Steve McGarrett, do something that—which involved filling out forms and paperwork—from a guy who said 'thanks' so rarely Danny could count the times on one ha—holy—really? Just. _Really?_

A smile crept across Danny's face.

Well, he _had_ always…and okay, maybe Steve wasn't as…but still, this was…really, it…_Steve_?

The smile broadened.

That sneaky sonofabitch had just earned his Freaky Ninja title for the rest of his life.

Now it was time to go thank him.


	30. Ways 59 and 60

**Way 59**

Make sure he agrees with everything important that you're planning to do.

"Danny, the country is in an uproar. My reserve team's been activated. I _have_ to go."

The set of Danny's jaw, the lines etched around his eyes from years of laughter and smiles now set in worry, the way his lips are thin and stretched and clamped together. These are the things Steve notices as he shoves the last of the few things he'll take with him into a duffel bag.

When Danny's words come, they're so quiet Steve has to stop zipping the bag closed to hear them. An echo of a conversation held in the confines of a car Danny no longer owns. The early days of their partnership, still feeling each other out, already connected but not yet in tune with it. Better days before the terrorists Steve used to circle the globe chasing decided the best way to end the United States was to start World War III.

"You don't have to save everybody."

It isn't said in a sing-song voice this time. They've been partners for over ten years now. Closer than brothers, knowing every nuance of each other's voices, body language. The secret tomes they can write to each other with their eyes now penning more unspoken words to add to their history, to fill the blank pages of the book of their lives.

Grace is close by, in college, and Hawaii is safe for now. But that will change. Steve knows it. Danny knows it. Everyone in the state knows it. Hawaii is too important strategically to be left alone for long.

And that's why Steve has to go. That's why he has to don fatigues he hasn't worn in over four years. That's why he has to lace up those boots and sling that duffel over his shoulder and stand ramrod straight like Danny's the CO who'll be inspecting him.

"No," Steve says, reaching out to clamp his hand over Danny's bicep. "I _don__'__t_ have to save everybody."

And if his eyes say, "Just you and Grace and Kono and Chin" for him so he doesn't have to force the words past his lips, then he knows he's leaving Danny with the best…the _only_…reason there is for him to risk everything one last time.

Danny's silence as Steve closes the front door behind him, is the blessing he knows Danny can never verbally give.

It's enough.

It has to be.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: As has happened only once before (I think), Way 60 decided it wanted to be a companion piece to Way 59, so here you go…<em>

**Way 60**

Do little things for him—let him sleep in, bring him coffee, etc.

It's over.

And he's made it out alive.

Not that Danny's really surprised. If he's learned anything as McGarrett's back-up over a ten-year time period, it's that the man has horseshoes up his butt when it comes to his own survival.

Danny's not going to ever admit to the number of hours he, Kono, Chin and Malia spent poring over every television news channel, every internet site that carried news of the war, just to try and figure out where Steve was and what he was doing at any given moment. Somehow the enemies of the U.S. never made it within two hundred miles of Hawaii's shores. Danny secretly believes that was thanks to Steve and his SEAL team, though he'll never ask and he knows Steve can never tell.

He's only been back for eight hours, the Lieutenant Commander who's spent the last eleven months and sixteen days defending his country. And he's been asleep for seven-and-a-half of those eight hours, passed out on the couch still in his combat boots, his fatigues; dog tags spilling out over the half-opened button-down shirt to glint against the dark fabric of the couch.

There are circles ringing his partner's eyes. Two-day stubble on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. A scar just in front of his right ear. Another along the back of his right hand.

Later today the governor is holding a celebration of her head-of-task-force's return to them. Of the Medal of Honor he's meant to receive next month, bestowed upon him by the President himself for valor in action against an enemy force.

The governor's in her forties and a native Hawaiian and has become part of their _ohana_ over the past two years. Always asking if they know how McGarrett is, when he'll be back.

The team was never able to tell her, because they never knew.

Except the one time six months ago, when Danny received an internet-based text message that even Chin couldn't trace.

STAY SAFE. WILL WIN. ALOHA.

Danny takes out his cell phone and pulls the text message up, staring at the words. Knowing it went against all the rules for Steve to have sent it, but also understanding that it was important enough to Steve to let them all know he was still alive, to give them optimism at a time when it seemed the terrorist countries and their supporters might actually tip things to their favor. To tell them they were on his mind.

Three months later a whole fleet of submarines intent on attacking Hawaii and the west coast of the United States had been blown to smithereens. Danny had laughed until he'd cried, the cousins joining in, Gracie fist-pumping the air with a "Go, _Steve_!" because nobody knew better than them that if anyone was going to blow anything up in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, it was their fearless leader. _Brother_. Uncle. _Friend_.

From the kitchen the sound of the coffee pot burbling through the last of the water tells Danny the blend is ready. He'll let Steve sleep for now. He deserves the rest. But as soon as Steve begins to stir, there will be a cup of good joe waiting for him. There will be a hot shower upstairs, there will be clean civilian clothes, and there will be a badge that welcomes Steve back to his rightful place.

Five-0 had continued to do its job in Steve's absence, because wartime produces strange reactions in people, in criminals in particular, and after all, Danny had to keep the island safe for Grace. He had to keep things going so Steve had something to come home to.

Eleven years ago he'd met this man now sleeping soundly on the couch before him, right leg hanging off, gravity plastering the sole of his boot to the floor. Eleven years ago they'd learned to respect each other and work as a team and fit together like yin and yang are supposed to.

Eleven years later, and Danny sees a war hero, a veteran, a man who's willing to die to defend and protect and serve his country. A man who made it back in one piece, and who no doubt will insist on getting right back to work come Monday. A man who's more than a best friend, though Danny will never label it as anything more than 'partner' in his own mind.

He doesn't need to, because whatever this is that keeps him orbiting Steve like a planet to the Sun…whatever it is that makes their lives come back to the two of them no matter where they wander along the way…

It's enough.

It always will be.


	31. Ways 61 and 62

**Way 61**

Don't belittle his intelligence or be cynical in your words with him.

There were days, Danny thought, when it just didn't pay to get out of bed in the morning. Pretty much any day ending in –y when you were one Daniel Williams, apparently.

Days like today.

It wasn't so much the fact that he could guarantee it would be an obscenely large number of hours before he saw his bed again.

It wasn't so much the fact that he was now thirty times…forty times…fifty…okay, a _hundred_ times more likely to die on any given day now that Five-0 had become his life.

It wasn't even so much the fact that, as the only responsible adult in the hyphenated duo of Steve-and-Danny, he would have a throbbing headache to match the vein that would be sticking out on his forehead, and that he would have a knotted back muscle, an ache in his neck and a pain in his ass. All of which, for the record, he affectionately would name 'Steve.'

What it was, was he no longer had an outlet for all of the things that made it so it didn't pay for him to get out of bed in the morning.

Today, he wasn't allowed to gripe about lack of sleep.

Today, he wasn't allowed to bitch about how often his partner nearly got him killed. Shot. Shot _at_. Whatever. It was all semantics, anyway.

Today, he wasn't allowed to complain about having a headache. A backache. A neck ache. A cramp. He wasn't even allowed to whine about how badly he needed a massage.

No. Because thanks to Rachel and Step-Stan, the stupidly Labrador-like Stepford Stepfather-of-the-Year Nominee…thanks to them, his wonderful daughter, who had always looked at him with affection even when he was on a holy tear about one thing or another that had happened to him on a daily basis since last time he'd seen her, had made him make a _promise._

And not just _any_ promise. Oh, no.

This had been a _pinkie-swear_ promise.

Yeah. One of those.

#~#~#~#~#~#

"Danno, aren't you happy?"

"What? Of course I'm happy, I'm with you. How could I not be happy, what kind of a question is that?"

"It's just that in our Esoterics session yesterday, we learned that it actually makes bad situations worse if you complain about them all the time."

"Your…your _what_, now?"

"And Ms. Kulani said that when you complain a lot it causes tension in your neck."

He shot her a look.

"And knots in your muscles."

"Really."

"And makes your veins pop out."

"You don't say."

"And can even give you really bad headaches."

"Ms. Kulani knows Steve?"

"_Danno!_"

He sighed. "So what, exactly, was Ms. Kulani's solution for this? How's a working schlub supposed to get rid of the tension if he can't complain about the person causing it, Monkey?"

"Easy, Danno." She looked at him with eyes that were wise beyond her years, and he knew in that moment he was oh, so screwed. "You stop calling Uncle Steve names, stop being so cynical all the time and maybe just…smile."

"Smile."

She nodded. "Uh-huh. Smile."

"At Uncle Steve."

She nodded again.

"This is how you want me to handle him getting me shot at. Smiling at him."

"Yes, Danno. You have to promise me now. Pinkie-swear it. For one day."

"Only one day?"

"Yep."

"You're lucky I love you so much," he said, holding out the little finger of his right hand.

"Ditto," she said, grasping his pinkie with her own and shaking it for good measure.

God, she was _so_ his kid.

#~#~#~#~#~#

And as the luck of Detective Williams would have it, this would be one of those aforementioned days ending in –y where, the second he slid into the passenger seat (_passenger_, make a note) of his Camaro, all hell broke loose.

Three vans squealed into his apartment building's parking lot.

Guns were pulled.

Bullet holes appeared in his and every other car there.

Bad guys got shot.

Steve got shot.

Danny got shot.

Oh, not in any way that would kill, to be sure.

But…you ever been shot? Hurts like a bitch. Worse than a bitch. It hurts like it's the bitch of the _bitch__'__s_ bitch, that's how it hurts.

So now his car's in the shop.

His building's holier than the Pope holding a slice of Swiss cheese.

And he's got to stay at McGarrett's unless he wants the sort of free ventilation that brings abnormally large insects into your bed while you're trying to get a good night's sleep. Only in Hawaii would mosquitoes vaguely resemble small Army tanks.

So they never made it into the office today, and it's already five in the afternoon.

Danny's got a red-stained bandage wound 'round and round his right arm, just to the right of his armpit.

Steve's got a red-stained bandage wound 'round and 'round his left arm, just to the left of his armpit.

They're installed on their respective sides of the couch and really, when did Danny start claiming his own 'side' of Steve McGarrett's couch, anyway?

Chin and Kono have come and gone with food, with beer, with the painkillers that were prescribed but that neither man will take.

And through it all…_all_ of it…Danny's remained silent.

Which might explain the look of abject terror on a certain Navy SEAL's face right about now. Because, you know, usually, a silent Danno is a deadly Danno, and after three years, Steve will happily tell you that for free. And then usually make a strategic retreat in the opposite direction. Or to another island for a couple days. Either way.

But Danny had made his very-nearly-teenage daughter a pinkie-swear promise that for one day and one day only, he would hold his tongue, he would not call Steve names, he would not question out loud whether his partner's mental capacity was greater than or equal to his considerable shoe size, and he would not complain about _anything_.

It had helped a lot that they'd given him enough morphine at Kings Medical to knock out a herd of elephants. But that was neither here nor there at this point.

Steve's eyes darted to Danny's.

Tomorrow, Danny could rant.

About how Steve couldn't even get them out of Danny's own parking lot without drawing what had turned out to be an international incident into their laps. Couldn't even call him a trouble magnet, dammit.

About how Steve had only gotten shot because he'd dived over the trunk of the Camaro (in a truly spectacular stunt Danny's sure would've won him a decent award had they been on a TV show instead of this being his life) to make sure Danny wasn't getting his head blown off.

About how Danny had gotten a bullet to his arm before he'd even had _coffee_, thankyouverymuch.

About how now he was going to have to rent a car or, God forbid, take one from HPD's pool or worse yet, hike himself up into Steve's _I __have _nothing _to __overcompensate __for, __Danno_ gigantoid pickup. Or…and the thought made Danny truly shiver in fear…borrow the black garage-hogging behemoth that Steve had tinkered with to the point where Danny was convinced he didn't know jack about fixing cars at all, but rather just wanted to _appear_ as though he did because the damn thing still hadn't wanted to run since the day Danny had helped push it up a goddamn hill.

Oh, wait. Where was he now?

Ah, yes. He was imagining in his mind all the things he was going to give Steve shit for tomorrow, since he couldn't do it today. And enjoying the furtive glances from his partner, who looked like he was about to say something finally, and when he did, the thing of it was, goddammit, this was why Danny just _had_ to rant as much as he did, and _had_ to make raving an Olympic sport, and had no _choice_ but to complain. This right here. Shit like this.

"I'm sorry."

Danny's brain stuttered to a halt.

"You can stay here as long as you need to, and you can use my truck to get around."

Somebody needed to ramp up the juices that get neurons firing, because Danny's had stopped.

"And since it's your weekend with Grace in a couple days, she can use Mary's old room, and you can have _my_ old room."

All of that, right there, what the _hell_ was a rough-and-tumble cop from Jersey, a cop who'd spent his entire life making up for everything that had never been his fault to begin with, from his height to who his family was, to what school he'd gone to, to who he'd been partnered with, to the fact that he'd left his home state to go to the Magical Land of Now-I've-Got-Sand-In-Cracks-I-Didn't-Even-Know-I-Had because his ex-wife just _loved_ fucking his life sideways with a table saw at every opportunity, what was he supposed to _do_ with his partner offering him everything like that, without even blinking or second-guessing or asking for anything in return…unlike some evil British women he knew, by the way, and boy, could he tell you stories…

How do you like that.

He hadn't said _any_ of that aloud.

"Danny?"

Tentative. Concerned. Worried.

Stuff not usually heard in the Lieutenant Commander's voice.

Danny chanced a look at him. Found those tones reflected in his eyes. What the hell was he supposed to _do_ with that, that look, that…that…_Steve_?

Only thing he could, he thought, scratching his finger along his nose.

Danny looked down the couch at Steve. And smiled.

Steve grinned like the goddamned goofy loon that he was.

Which made Danny smile wider.

Either he was just being as big an idiot as his partner, or…maybe Grace's Ms. Kulani had been right after all.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I have to thank my editor, Samantha Winchester, for giving me some sort of direction for Way 62. It's not easy to write heavy bromanceno slash for a Way that says this!_

**Way 62**

Initiate sex periodically. And respond more often.

Danny wondered when exactly it was he'd started actually thinking Steve McGarrett gave good advice.

Clearly, he'd been sorely mistaken.

#~#~#~#~#~#

"You need to get laid, Danno."

"Do _not_ use the term 'laid' in the same sentence as my daughter's beloved nickname for me, McGarrett."

"Okay. You need to get _laid_, _Danny_."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Moments of silence.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you think I need to get laid?"

"It's why you're so bitchy. You haven't gotten laid since—"

"Ho, whoa, no, put the brakes on."

"What?"

"How are we even talking about my sex life?"

"What sex life?"

"How is that even your business?"

"It's my business when you become too uptight to work effectively with me anymore."

"What makes you think I have no sex life?"

"I'm your boss, Danny. I read the 6-month physical results."

"How do the results of my physical tell you anything about my non-existent sex life?"

"A-ha, I was right!"

"I hate you _so_ much."

"Go out, Danny. I know a couple places where you're sure to pick up someone."

"Danny Williams does _not_ 'pick up someone' for random sexual encounters, my friend."

"Aaaaaand, there's the problem."

"I am _not_ a casual kind of guy."

"You certainly aren't, especially when you wear a tie twenty-four/seven."

"Why am I discussing my sex life with you?"

"You don't have a sex life, Danny."

#~#~#~#~#~#

Which was how, at nine o'clock on a Saturday night, Danny found himself bellied up to a bar nursing a beer and on the prowl.

Well, he wasn't really on the prowl since he didn't do casual. But McGarrett wouldn't let it go. Would _not_ let it go. What a pain-in-the-ass.

So _McGarrett_ was on the prowl _for_ Danny. Yep. Right down there at the end of the bar.

Problem was, with _him_ around, best Danny could hope for was sloppy seconds.

Which was why Steve left with two girls who looked like they belonged in the swimsuit issue of _Sports __Illustrated_, and why Danny went home alone.

Sometimes he really, really hated his life. Hated his partner. All of the above. Do you hate me, check yes or no. All of it.

He'd been handling things fine enough on his own these many long months, thanks so much. What happened between a man and his good right hand in the privacy of his own hovel was nobody else's business.

Most _especially_ not his boss's.

Except when…

Except when someone knocked on his door thirty minutes after he'd gotten home, stripped off his tie and shirt, toed out of his shoes and socks, and unbuttoned his pants.

Except when he opened the door to find his partner standing there with those two swimsuit models.

Except when Steve said, "You were _supposed_ to follow us to _my_ place, Danno," as he and the ladies walked in.

"Yeah," said one of the girls as she slid off Steve's arm and latched on to Danny's. "I was beginning to think you didn't like me." Yes, that was definitely a pout.

And that thing on Steve's face was most _definitely_ a shit-eating grin.

_Okay_, Danny thought as the model attached to his arm started nosing his ear. _Maybe __Steve __has __a __valid __point._

So what, Danny had a small apartment.

So what, Danny didn't exactly look respectable with his bare torso and his half-unbuttoned pants.

So what, Danny didn't usually do casual.

There was Steve, and there were girls.

What the hell.

"Live a little, Danno."

And he did.


	32. Ways 63 and 64

**Way 63**

Sometimes let him enjoy his day off work without having to "work" at home.

Jesus Christ, that new governor was going to send Steve to an early grave.

Never mind the daily battles with weaponry that were designed for such a purpose.

Never mind the high-speed chases.

Never mind the flowing lava (and in spite of Danny's belief to the contrary, Steve seriously was _not_ interested in an instant replay of having to vault over six feet of lava so he wouldn't go up in a fiery poof).

Never mind the fact that he'd survived all those years as an active SEAL plus almost two years now as the head of Five-0.

No, it was the new governor who'd be the death of him. Either that, or Danny.

Because he had very little doubt that as soon as he showed up at Danny's new apartment door, he'd probably get shot in the face.

Or maybe someplace more traumatic. Knee, groin, whatever. Danny would make it hurt.

Why? Well, they hadn't had a day off in the last three weeks. Not. One. Day. Danny had missed two weekend visitations with his daughter and three of the two-night-a-week visits where he'd pick her up from school, keep her overnight and drop her back off at school the next morning.

So to say Danny was already past the point of pissed off was the understatement of the year.

But Governor Denning had made it abundantly clear in the impromptu morning meeting he'd called that if Steve didn't have each and every slip of paper that constituted the file for their most recent case, on Denning's desk by eight the following morning, there'd be hell to pay.

Phrases like _following __procedure __now_ and _justifying __your __expenditures_ and _beholden __to __the __taxpayers_ floated around in his mind as he left HQ with his arms full of two paper boxes which themselves were full of…yeah. Papers.

There was no way he was going to be able to pull this off by himself. He thought of enlisting Chin's help, just to try and give Danny a break but really, that was no more justifiable than roping Danny into it. No favoritism, regardless of who was whose partner. Not only that, he knew that Chin was going out with Malia tonight, and double-dating with Kono, no less. Which, you know, said a lot when just last year Kono wanted to wring everyone's necks if even Malia's _name_ was even mentioned.

An angry Kono was not someone to be trifled with, even if you were a SEAL.

And Chin, well, he'd sigh and shake his head, but he'd leave the date to help Steve. Of course he would. He was Chin Ho. But no, Steve just couldn't do it to him, not after how happy he'd been about this date after they'd wrapped the case and caught the bastards who'd been leaving a trail of massacred bodies across the entire island chain.

Steve sighed as he accelerated out of the parking lot. Oh, he _so_ did not want to get shot in the face tonight by his partner. He wished like hell he had more confidence in his ability to get everything worded correctly and fill out all those damn HPD forms correctly, but that had always been Danny's thing.

Well, not _always_. Sometimes it was Kono's thing, too. Chin usually filled out the more technical paperwork, Kono and Danny worked the rest of it. Steve sort of dealt with requisitions and reviewing the files after the team was done with their magic.

You know, come to think of it, maybe Steve wasn't a very good boss if he made the rest of them do all the paperwork. Okay, well, maybe he was, because wasn't that what bosses did? Always made those under their command do the grunt work?

Hell if he knew. He never had to do paperwork in the SEALs, not really, and even in Naval Intelligence he'd gotten away with so little of it he couldn't even remember what the forms looked like. He was always out in the field. He was Action Man, as Danny liked to call him sometimes. Sitting behind a desk and trying to explain why he'd done something a certain way, when that was what he'd been trained to do by the Navy, was bullshit, as far as he was concerned.

If they got their man in the end, that was all that counted to Steve.

Not so much to HPD or the governor, apparently.

Steve sighed again as he pulled into the small complex's driveway. There wasn't a single open parking space, but at least Danny's Camaro was in his spot. Grinding his teeth together, Steve pulled back out onto the street, hugged his truck's tires to the curb and cut the engine.

He bit his lip.

"_If you so much as send me a smiley face text message, I will drive to your house and shoot you in the face, McGarrett."_

Danny's words echoed through his head. Maybe he should try the text message first, and that way, he'd see if Danny left his apartment with the express intent of making good his threat.

_Since when are you afraid of anyone?_

Steve wondered if he was the work-wife and Danny was the abusive work-husband in this relationship. Lord knew he yelled enough for it, but to date, had only hit Steve once and in his defense, it had been warranted after Steve had twisted his arm and forced him to his knees.

_Justifying your spouse's bad behavior is a sure sign you need help._

Okay, Steve _seriously_ needed to stop falling asleep when Dr. Phil was going to come on, because now this shit was seeping into his subconscious and surfacing at highly inappropriate times.

Right. Boxes. Paperwork. Danny.

No shooting.

_I __hope_.

And that was how Steve found himself standing at the door of an apartment he'd actually only been fully inside of one time since Danny had moved into it three months earlier. He set the two paper boxes on the ground to the right of the door where Danny wouldn't be able to see them from the inside.

He knocked.

He didn't hear anything.

He knocked again.

Huh. _Odd_.

Steve made quick work of picking the lock and thought, as he pushed the door open, that it really wasn't much good having a chain on your door if you didn't actually use it once you were inside. But oh, well, good for him, anyway.

He pulled out his weapon and looked around the living room. Nothing there, nothing out of place. Moving on. The combination kitchen and dining room was a little messy with a handful of dirty dishes in the sink and something all over one part of the counter, maybe sugar or salt. Nothing else.

Down the hall he crept. There was only one bedroom, and one bathroom, but Steve had to admire the place as being several steps up from the studio Danny had lived in for over two years before they tore it down to develop condos.

He peeked into the bathroom on the right. Empty. Clean. Then he moved to the bedroom door. It was open about an inch, and he quietly pushed it with one finger, gun trained around the side of it.

Not a sound.

He peeked in and what he saw made him quickly thumb the safety back on and re-holster his weapon.

There, lying in the huge California King bed he'd only just bought two weeks earlier, was Danny. And nestled into his right arm, was Grace. Both were sound asleep, their chests rising and falling in counterpoint.

Steve couldn't help himself. He just stood there and stared. Rachel must have let Danny have Grace today since work had made him miss his visits with her. She'd definitely thawed since their little fling and the advent of Rachel's pregnancy.

To see the two of them, father and daughter, lying there so peaceful-looking, well…it did something to Steve's insides that he really couldn't identify. It sort of made his gut clench and his chest feel tight and his skin feel too small for his body and all at once he felt like smiling and yet at the same time like crying. If he was a man who cried.

Which, well…not so much.

Usually.

He swallowed hard against the emotional assault and tried to burn the scene into his memory. It was rare to see Danny Williams _not_ animated…and even rarer that he was unanimated _not_ due to being unconscious from an injury he would always find a way to blame Steve for.

It was a moment Steve knew his mother would have called precious.

Steve himself didn't have a word for it. He just knew he wanted to remember it.

He backed away, returning the door to its nearly-closed state. He turned and crept back through the kitchen and the living room. He locked the lock on the doorknob and made to step outside, but realized he didn't have a way to re-lock the deadbolt.

Well, that wouldn't do. He'd been able to get all the way to Danny's bedroom without either him or Grace waking up. Steve couldn't leave him with a doorknob lock as his only defense against…whomever.

Nope. Steve needed to improvise.

* * *

><p>It was after midnight.<p>

Danny scratched his stomach, still exhausted after the nap he and Grace had taken nearly twelve hours earlier. They'd spent the afternoon and evening eating, baking cookies and cupcakes (when had Danny turned into such a freakin' Martha Stewart-type, anyway, is what _he_ wanted to know), coloring, finishing up her homework, reading books, watching cartoons.

All in all, a perfect day with her. Finally.

So now he was just going to double-check the locks on his door, slide the chain lock into place and hit the hay to get some much-needed shuteye. Tomorrow morning it'd be up and at 'em to take Grace to school and face the paperwork he dreaded at HQ. He sighed. He really, _really_ needed to teach Steve McGarrett to do some of his own goddamn paperwork.

But tonight he was too sleepy to dream up a good rant. He'd make one up off-the-cuff tomorrow.

Danny frowned when he looked at the deadbolt. He'd locked it before he and Grace had fallen into bed for their nap. He was _sure_ he'd locked it. And yet there it was, looking at him, mocking him with how locked it wasn't.

But the doorknob handle was locked.

Danny's eyes narrowed.

_Steve._

Steve _must_ have been there. He must have come in while Danny was napping, seen he was asleep with Grace and left, and had no way to re-lock the deadbolt.

Why Danny immediately suspected his partner rather than think he himself might've _not_ locked the deadbolt to begin with was something that didn't even occur to him.

On a whim, he unlocked the doorknob and opened his front door.

There.

One of the complex's patio tables and a matching chair had been pulled over so it wasn't even five feet from Danny's front door. And there, slumped forward on the table, head on his folded arms and snoring like a buzzsaw, was his partner.

Surrounding Steve were two boxes and under his arms were stacks of papers. Still clenched in his hand was a ballpoint pen. Danny left his apartment, closing the door behind him, and crept over to see what the hell Steve was up to.

Paperwork. On this most recent case.

_Holy shit._

He was doing…_paperwork._

But why was he sitting outside of Danny's apartment doing it?

Danny looked toward the street. Steve's truck was parked there. He looked down at the paper boxes. Steve had obviously brought all the files with him from HQ. Danny looked back at his front door. Steve had come into the apartment, probably after not getting a response to knocking.

Danny looked back down at his partner's head and partially exposed face. Steve had obviously felt the need to get the paperwork done tonight. Maybe that's what that meeting with the governor had been about. Maybe Denning had demanded the paperwork be finished for Monday morning.

And so, of course, Steve would come to the one person he knew could help him actually get it done by that time. Steve would have had no clue that Rachel's driver had brought Grace over at the ass-crack of dawn, that Grace would be there.

So Steve had probably knocked, he reasoned, received no answer, saw the Camaro and thought the worst. Danny shook his head and smiled down at his passed-out partner. So of course he'd done the Steve Thing To Do and broken into the apartment, saw Grace and Danny asleep, and left.

And realized he couldn't properly secure the apartment. And didn't want to leave Danny and his daughter so exposed to the criminal element.

Danny resisted the urge to laugh. Steve was so predictable. Such a goof.

A good-hearted goof, but a goof nonetheless.

He'd stayed right here to guard Danny's place like a watchdog, and had fallen asleep trying to complete the paperwork himself.

Checking first on Grace, now asleep in his huge bed, Danny then threw on a tee shirt, grabbed his laptop and heated a cup of coffee in the microwave. He stuffed a couple pens and pencils in his pocket and closed his apartment door quietly behind him, not bothering to lock it since he and McGarrett were so close.

He put all his stuff on the table, went and grabbed another chair, and pulled it over. He sat down to Steve's left, gently pulled the piles of forms out from under his partner's arms, and extricated the ballpoint pen from his hand.

In the building's exterior lights, Danny set about completing the task of getting that paperwork done for Steve. And if he threw more than one fond glance at his partner as the wee hours dragged on and Steve slept deeply, nobody would be the wiser. He didn't mind doing it. He'd be dead on his feet tomorrow, but hey, that was the job.

Besides…he _was_ the back-up, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 64<strong>

Get to the point in your discussions. Spare him details unless he wants them.

Steve liked to get to the point.

He was used to having to be very quick in communicating information. He was used to his superiors and peers wanting the most information in the least possible time.

Half the time, it was because their lives were in mortal danger at the time, but whatever.

Danny liked to take a really, really long time to get to the point.

He was used to talking just to make sure he was heard. He was used to his superiors and peers rolling their eyes, but he simply felt that people wouldn't understand him unless he provided examples, anecdotes, explained every last detail and used his hands as substitutions for graphs and PowerPoint presentations.

Half the time, it was because silence made Danny uncomfortable if you wanted the truth, but whatever.

Steve tuned out a lot of what his partner said.

He was good at picking out the parts he actually needed to hear. The parts with real points.

He suspected Danny had latched onto the fact that he didn't always pay attention, though.

Danny paid close attention to Steve's faces while he was extolling the virtues of procedure and due process.

He was good at picking out exactly which faces meant Steve was hearing the parts he needed to hear. The parts with real points.

He suspected Steve knew Danny talked to fill the silences, and that was why he tuned him out a lot, and maybe that should've bothered him for some macho reason. It didn't, though.

Steve once told Danny he'd pay him cash to stop talking.

He'd felt bad because Danny had seemed partially hurt in the wake of that statement, but also partially accepting like he was used to being told nobody cared what he had to say.

He hadn't meant it that way, and it was why he never told Danny to be quiet after that. He wasn't a mean guy, after all.

Danny remembered the time when Steve had told him he'd pay him cash to stop talking.

He'd felt bad because he really didn't want to screw up a new partnership, and he actually really liked Steve, though he hadn't quiet figured out why. He was just so used to being told nobody cared what he had to say, so he always kept trying and trying and trying to make his points. It was a failing. He knew this. It didn't stop him from keeping on with it.

He figured Steve hadn't meant it that way, and since Steve never again told him to shut up or any variation thereof, he figured maybe Steve actually didn't mind his talking so much after all.

Steve wasn't quite sure when Danny's talking had gone from something he put up with to something he depended on.

Steve wasn't quite sure when he'd started using the tone, the cadence, the rhythm, the crescendo of Danny's voice to gauge everything from the type of day it was (or was going to be) to Danny's mood to Steve's own mood to the way things were going with Rachel or Grace or Step-Stan or his landlord.

Steve wasn't quite sure when Danny, Danny's mouth and Danny's words had become such an integral part of him that sometimes the silence of banging around his big house all by himself became deafening.

Danny wasn't quite sure when he'd noticed that his partner would egg him on, rile him up, say things he knew would set Danny off just to get Danny going on a rant about one thing or another.

Danny wasn't quite sure when he'd started noticing that Steve was paying the kind of attention to him that wasn't so much listening to his words with his ears, but listening to Danny with his whole body. Like he was absorbing Danny while he talked, even if he might not have been able to recite verbatim what Danny had said.

Danny wasn't quite sure when Steve, Steve's brand of crazy and Steve's constant presence had become such an integral part of him that sometimes the silence of banging around his small apartment all by himself became deafening.

Steve was happy Monday morning when he picked Danny up and Danny started in on the fact that there was a twenty percent chance of rain today.

Steve was happy when they pulled a fresh case around ten that morning, because it kept Danny bitching about the weather all the way to the crime scene.

Steve was really happy when he stopped a would-be rapist from slicing Danny's throat that night and silencing Danny's words forever.

Because Steve found he couldn't live without those words now.

Danny was happy Monday morning when Steve picked him up and asked him what he thought about the weather that day, joyfully griping at Steve all the way to work about the twenty percent chance of rain.

Danny was happy when they pulled a fresh case around ten that morning, because it was raining cats and dogs and maybe even wild boars, and he kept bitching about it all the way to the crime scene, to the backdrop of Steve's lopsided smile.

Danny was really happy when Steve's well-timed ninja moves stopped a would-be rapist from slicing Danny's throat that night and silencing him forever.

Because Danny found that it wasn't any longer just Grace he didn't want to leave behind.

Maybe it was time for Danny to use his overabundance of words to tell a certain someone just that.

And maybe it was time for Steve to use some words of his own.


	33. Ways 65 and 66

**Way 65**

Discover his sexual needs.

Getting to know anyone was always a process of discovery.

When you're a cop, getting to know your fellow cops is kind of a funny thing, in that you discover very quickly, when you're pinned down, out of options and have bullets flying every which way threatening your very existence, how brave they are. How reckless. How trustworthy. How selfish. How self_less_.

You learn sometimes what they smell like after days without a shower or clean change of clothes.

You learn sometimes what their favorite foods and drinks are, versus what they'll eat and drink when there's nothing else on-hand.

You learn how they think when you have to spend a lot of time together, what they like, who they like. Sometimes their stance on politics or celebrities or TV shows. Their wife, their kids. If their marriage is good or bad.

You tend to learn a lot about your fellow cops just by nature of spending so much time together and putting your life on the line right alongside them.

Danny surmises things aren't the same for SEALs. He guesses they don't do the sort of quasi-touchy-feely type things cops tended to do. Sometimes, he remembers waxing poetic about his daughter on a long stakeout, where whichever partner he had at the time either tuned him out or actually listened and smiled.

He remembers, too, when the conversation turned to _much_ more 'guy' topics like getting off, which female police officer was hotter than the other, and even one time when his partner was bi, which male cops were the hottest.

That particular partner had confessed to thinking it was Danny. Danny hadn't _quite_ known what to do with that, but then it hadn't mattered because the divorce and relocation five thousand miles away had happened.

The funny thing is, he's finding out that getting to know his new partner, one Lieutenant Commander of the Navy, isn't at _all_ like getting to know _anyone_ else. For one thing, Steve rarely divulges. For another, he speaks more with his facial expressions than with words. Expressions that are sometimes difficult to decode, and other times so easy Danny can practically _see_ the words written on his partner's forehead, cheeks and chin.

He picks up pretty quickly on Steve's 'daddy issues,' although that's not a term he'll actually use out loud. Not if he values his life, which he does, very much so.

He also learns pretty quickly that no matter how much he rants and raves, Steve will still do things Steve's way, and expect Danny to just jump into the frying pan and, more often than not, directly into the fire thereafter, no matter how much he gripes about it.

Danny wonders why the hell he keeps jumping.

Danny is nothing if not observant, and he has observed Steve's definite change in mood when his pretty lieutenant is in town. He has also observed the very opposite of said mood, when it's clear Steve has gone _way_ too long without one of those visits.

It surprises him on some level that Steve doesn't just go out and grab someone when he needs a tension release. On another level it doesn't, because if Steve has feelings for Catherine, Danny can see Steve being an all-in kind of guy, where he doesn't go running around on her just because she's hundreds or thousands of miles away on a ship in the middle of some ocean.

So Danny learns to respect that about his partner, and marvel at how well he keeps up the long-distance relationship. Danny doesn't think he'd be able to do that in his partner's shoes, because Danny is man enough to admit he's a needy sort of guy. Needy in that, if he's with someone like Steve is with Catherine, he wants his hands on them as much as possible.

He wants to be able to touch, even just the barest hint of fingertips to the other person. He wants to be able to stand close enough to feel the heat from them. He wants to be able to look them in the eye, to watch them. To protect them. To help them when they need it. To listen to their everyday woes and triumphs, no matter how mundane. He doesn't think he'd be able to just sit alone night after night wishing his significant other was there next to him on the couch, knowing it can't be helped because of their jobs.

That, he's sure, would drive him insane. So it's really no surprise, when Danny knows Catherine hasn't been in town for four months now, when Steve goes completely batshit on a suspect and nearly kills him just because of pent-up tension.

Danny's pretty sure Steve's picked up on the fact that he hasn't yet heard the hour-long speech Danny has reserved for such occurrences. But he can't bring himself to the customary rant because he understands. He gets that sometimes a man's own hands just aren't enough, especially when what you're longing for is more specific to a particular person than it is to generic sexual release.

So he drops Steve off at his place and goes back home without ranting, wishing there was some way of helping, but not sure what that could be. He could cross the line between them so easily, and he _knows_ that. He also knows – or at least is pretty sure – that Steve wouldn't hate him for it even if he didn't know why Danny did it.

But the thing is that no matter what the two of them have, there are certain lines Danny will not cross. No matter what. Period. End of story.

For him, a friendship like the one he has with Steve, well…it's rare. Unique. He hates and loves the man in equal parts, sometimes one more than the other depending on what Steve's done that day. Hour. Minute. Whatever. Okay, maybe 'hate' is too strong a word. It's a word Danny uses when he's scared shitless of losing the guy, okay?

He loves Steve like he once had loved Matty, before Matty had turned into someone Danny had never known existed. He loves Steve like he loves Grace, almost…fiercely, protectively, with every cell of his being.

Well, except that Grace never pisses him off like McGarrett tends to.

Unconditionally, even, Danny might venture so far as to say. Even when Steve goes too far sometimes, Danny still cares.

The easy way out would be to give in and just _do__it_. But see, Danny's never done things the easy way, and half of him has this weird feeling that Steve would actually respect him _less_ somehow if he just marched in, took control of the situation and got rid of the tension.

Of course, the fact that Steve might just kill him on the spot and dump his body into the ocean behind his house has also occurred to him. He knows Steve is loyal, protective, and a guy with a big and generous heart. But he's not quite sure Steve loves him back enough not to end him.

So, yeah, it's a bit of a struggle in Danny's mind while he tries to come up with a solution.

And then it comes to him.

He's not sure he can pull it off, but one well-placed phone call might do the trick. He pulls out his cell phone, opens his contact list and finds the name he's looking for.

If anyone can pull this off for Danny…for _Steve_…it's Lieutenant Commander White.

* * *

><p><em>The next night…<em>

Steve is seriously contemplating banging his head into his front door when lights turn from the road into his driveway.

He frowns. He's not expecting anyone, but then he sees the lights belong to the Camaro. Well, that'll be Danny, then, and that's better than beating his head against his door any day. Maybe Danny can help…no. No, no, no. And no again.

Now he _does_ bang his head on the door.

But then the passenger door of the Camaro opens, and he's not expecting that.

The person who steps out is very familiar indeed.

His heart thuds faster in his chest as he watches Danny get out of the car, leaves it running as he hauls something out of the back seat. It's a big duffel bag.

The passenger makes her way to the front door, which Steve has just enough presence of mind to open. She smiles as Danny pushes past them, deposits her duffel in the living room, and then pushes past them again to get back outside.

"Cat?" Steve finally manages to say, certain his voice is full of all the disbelief he's feeling. "How…?"

Catherine turns to Danny. They share a knowing look and if Steve's interpreting correctly, they might even be smiling a 'thank you' to each other. He's not sure, though. Interpreting smiles is a lot more difficult than interpreting frowns, for him.

Danny doesn't say a word. Just gets back into the Camaro and leaves.

Steve's arms are around Catherine, pulling her inside, kissing her, practically mauling her, barely getting the door closed behind her. Her laughter fills the air, then it turns to moans and hitches of breath. They don't make it much past the living room, not surprisingly.

That Danny did this, somehow…that he _knew_ what was wrong, what Steve needed…that he knew it was much, _much_ more than just sex his partner was craving so badly…Steve can't even process it.

"I only have twenty-four hours," Cat whispers when he strips her naked and makes short work of his own clothes. She looks at him, big brown eyes full of happiness. "You wouldn't believe what he did to get me here." She pauses to kiss Steve deeply, and he relishes in the feel of her mouth, her body wrapped in his arms. She pulls back and smiles. "He really loves you, you know."

Steve nods as he pulls her close. He knows. They'd never said it, but he'd always known.

And he _will_ thank Danny.

He doesn't know how.

But he will.

* * *

><p>Danny seats himself on his couch. He flips on the television. He opens a beer.<p>

He thinks about the look on Steve's face.

And he smiles.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 66<strong>

Surprise him with a 15 second kiss when he gets home from work.

It was the second time.

The second time Danny almost died.

This time, it had been no simple one-day recovery period.

This time, it had been _months_.

Three of them.

And twelve days.

And fourteen hours.

And six minutes.

Steve had wanted to be the one to pick Danny up when he was discharged from the hospital.

But Grace, now eighteen and nearly graduated from high school, had insisted upon that role.

So Kono and Chin had kept Steve at work as long as they could, until even they couldn't hold him down, metaphorically or literally, and he'd finally left.

The cousins shared a look as their boss slammed through the doors and into the hall.

The first time, Steve had been…scared.

As in, shitless.

He'd seen men die in the line of duty.

Men right next to him get their brains blown out.

Men he'd been joking with five minutes prior suddenly infused with the blank eyes-wide stare of the dead.

Men who were his superiors, his peers. Those he commanded.

Men, women and children in other places, foreign lands. Places where war and peace were synonymous to the native people.

Children as young as Grace had been when he'd first met her. Their lives stolen in conflict.

Women as beautiful as Catherine, or Kono, lifeless and cold.

Men as tough as him or his SEAL team, as any one of them or all together, snuffed out in an instant.

But that had been Danny. Danny who hadn't been able to breathe. Danny who'd started convulsing.

Danny who'd almost died.

And then this time.

Nine years later, the criminals were still using guns and knives but had also been watching too many movies, because the chainsaw to Danny's gut had been something Steve never saw coming.

Unfortunately, Danny hadn't seen it coming either.

Steve had spent nineteen minutes holding Danny together with his bare hands.

Nineteen minutes.

Thirty-four seconds.

Gruesome.

But Danny had survived.

"_I'm a stubborn bastard, you don't know that by now?"_

Sure. All the men he'd fought alongside over the years had been stubborn bastards. Some even more stubborn than Danny, who gave in to Steve, or Grace, or Kamekona or hell, _any_ of his _ohana_, more often than not. Not so stubborn, really, all things considered.

"_I heard what you had to do when I got sliced."_

Sliced. Such a nice, neat term for it.

For having your flesh torn, ripped. For having your insides end up on your outsides.

The sheer gore of it was something Steve hadn't yet been able to chase from his nightmares.

This one simply refused to compartmentalize itself into the dark corners of his brain designed for such purposes.

This was Danny.

Danny almost died.

For a second time.

Steve knew where Grace had taken her father.

The old Camaro was gone, meaning Grace had left.

Steve's truck skidded to a noisy stop in his driveway. He jumped out. He didn't even close his door. He nearly broke his home's front one, in his desperate need to see Danny _not_ in a hospital bed with an IV sticking out of his arm.

Although that had been better than what he'd looked like the first month.

Steve's feet just stopped of their own volition as his eyes squeezed shut against the memory. Body memory, he knew it was called, his hands feeling the ghost of the pieces of Danny's body he'd held together.

He shivered.

So much for SEAL control.

And then Danny was there. Standing right there in front of Steve.

Steve could _smell_ him.

He opened his eyes.

Danny smiled a small smile. "Thank you…" he said, and his voice trailed off, eyes looking down.

Steve remembered the moment in HQ when Rachel had dropped Danny off. He'd hugged Kono and Chin. Jenna. And then Steve.

And then Sang Min.

But Sang Min wasn't here.

Steve moved first, wrapping his arms around his partner, curling himself forward so Danny wouldn't have to stretch his torso to reach.

He was warm. He was _alive_.

Danny pulled Steve's head down onto his shoulder, and Steve just held on. Danny. Was. _Alive_.

Danny's lips were against Steve's temple when Danny whispered, voice low and broken, "Thank you."

And when Steve pressed his head into that touch, when he tightened his arms around his partner and best friend, he felt the prickle of tears escaping his eyes.

But given what he'd seen…

Given what he'd done…

Given that it had taken Steve _weeks_ to get the sticky feel of Danny's blood off his hands…

He figured he'd earned it.

Danny's mouth stayed against his temple for fifteen whole seconds.

Long enough for Steve to feel the heat of Danny's breath. He was breathing. Danny was showing Steve that he was _breathing_.

"Danny," Steve croaked, hating his voice, hating his emotions, hating that it was all hanging bare right now.

"You held me together," Danny said, and Steve could tell he had tears too, so maybe it was okay that Steve just couldn't stop his own. "Now it's my turn."

This hug lasted longer than that first one had, nine years ago.

Twenty minutes…

…ten seconds…

…fifty-two more years.


	34. Ways 67 and 68

**Way 67**

Wink at him from across the room when you're out at a group function.

"Danny, it's _Hawaii_. Halfway through the ball, every single person there, all of HPD, all their dates and wives, _everyone_ will be stripped down to their suits and in the water."

"_Everyone except me."_

Steve sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Danny, you are going to look like a complete _idiot_!" he hissed.

"_How does dressing in your dress whites and stripping in front of every single human being at a Policeman's Ball make you not look like an idiot?"_

Steve pulled his cell phone away, stared at it incredulously, then closed his eyes and shook his head, putting the cell phone back against his ear. "Because _everyone __else_ will be stripping in front of…everyone _else_."

"_Okay, look. You got me to get rid of the ties, okay? Well, no, don't go overinflating your already super-inflated ego, you didn't get me to do that, not directly. It was you getting arrested and me losing my job for about a week that got me to lose my ties. But I will not wear swim trunks under my dress uniform and strip down to them at a freaking ball. Do you people not even know what the hell a ball is?"_

Steve rolled his eyes, wishing Danny was there to see it.

"_It is a formal event, Steven! A formal event at which men dress like gentlemen, and women dress like ladies, and they drink and eat and dance and hell, maybe even get a kiss or something, and then they go home! They do not strip said uniforms off and go jump into an ocean!"_

"They do in Hawaii, Danny," Steve said with the patience of one speaking to a four year-old.

"_Not doing it. Hanging up now."_

Steve growled in frustration, throwing his phone at the couch cushions. What the hell? Why couldn't Danny just lighten the fuck up about this? He'd thought maybe they were getting somewhere with the whole losing-the-tie and have-your shirt-unbuttoned-a-little thing, but no. Of course not.

Sometimes Steve thought Danny just acted contrary about things like this because he knew it'd piss him off.

Well, he didn't have time to dwell on his irritable, irritating, irrational and irrefutably infuriating partner right now. He had some dress whites to put on.

Danny would just have to sit there alone at a table nursing a drink while every other person (except maybe Officer Kang since she was sporting a broken leg) got into the water. Come to think of it, Kang probably had a good watertight cover for her cast, so she'd probably hop in, too.

And Danny would sit there.

At a table.

Inside.

Alone.

Well. That was a depressing picture.

Steve sighed. There was only one thing to do.

* * *

><p>In spite of the fact that there was little to no love lost between most of the Honolulu Police Department and Five-0, Steve's team was managing to have a good time. Chin and Duke were talking about the good old days, and more than once, Steve heard his father's name mentioned.<p>

Kono had found Officer Kang and a couple other women, and he could overhear the numerous questions they were asking her about what it was like to work in a team of all guys like that, what kinds of things they did in Five-0 on a daily basis, what it was like working with (and he saw the furtive glances they shot his way) a Navy SEAL.

Steve had to stifle the urge to laugh out loud when Kono replied, "He's not the one you have to watch out for, _sistah_. It's the _haole_ who should worry you more than the SEAL."

Speaking of the _haole_, he seemed to be doing all right in the crowd for the most part. If there was one thing Danny could be, it was charming, and boy, could he tell a story. He was currently in the midst of a doozy, if the degree to which his hands were slicing through the air was any indication, and the three officers standing in a semicircle around him wore varying expressions from amusement to downright horror.

Cracking a grin at the scene, Steve tugged at the collar of his dress white shirt and took a sip of his beer. Just as he was contemplating walking over to Chin and Duke to see what topic they'd gotten to now, someone from just outside the doors of the Waikiki Beach Marriott's ballroom, yelled, "_'__Au!_"

Steve's grin was wide and his eyes zeroed in on Danny as every single person in the ballroom started removing their uniform jackets…shirts…pants…skirts…shoes…_everything_ was coming off save bikinis and trunks, and there stood Danny staring in abject horror at the mayhem around him.

It wasn't long before Danny had skittered to Steve's side. He was looking him up and down, and Steve gave him his best look of pure innocence. "What?"

"Aren't you going to strip, too?" Danny asked. "You usually take any and all opportunities to remove your shirt on a daily basis, however inappropriate, so this," he continued, waving his hand around as people finished properly hanging their uniforms and started barreling out to the beach, "is actually a place where apparently it would be _acceptable_ to lose the shirt."

"Nah," Steve drawled, tipping his head back to drain his beer. "I don't feel like going for a swim."

"Oh, my _God_, are you _dying_?" Danny asked, reaching up to lay the back of his hand against Steve's forehead. "Jesus Christ, _this_ is how you break it to me? What it is? Brain tumor? Experiment the Navy did on you à la Agent Orange? Out with it!"

Steve laughed, batting Danny's hand away. "I'm not _dying_, Danny, I just," he shrugged and pointed toward the nearest table with his elbow, "thought I'd hang out here and relax."

"Hang out here," Danny repeated, with a pointed look around them. "In an empty room."

"'s not empty, Danny," Steve said. "You're here."

Danny gave him an incredulous look. Steve grinned. "I'll go get us a couple beers."

"You're staying here."

"Yep," Steve nodded as he moved across the room to the row of gigantic tubs full of ice and beverages of both the alcoholic and non-alcoholic kind. The ballroom was huge and of course, with the majority of the participants gone, the music had stopped. It was eerily silent. The sound of beer bottles scraping against the ice seemed unusually loud as Steve pulled them out.

He turned, and almost dropped the bottles of beer when he saw his partner.

Who was no longer wearing his dress uniform.

Who was no longer wearing…anything…except a pair of pale blue swim trunks.

Danny looked up, noticed the shocked look on Steve's face, and had the audacity to wink at him, combined with one of those blazing bright smiles Danny only rarely showed to the world.

"But you—" Steve spluttered, "—and I—" he continued, charging across the room like Danny was a perp just waiting to be interrogated.

"Eloquent as always," Danny remarked, taking one of the beers out of his hand, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. "Okay, so you can strip now."

Steve let his pained face show through.

"I get Aneurism Face? _Now_? I thought you'd be happy to see me in the appropriate attire for this occasion!"

"You said you wouldn't do it, Danny!"

"I changed my mind."

"You changed your—" Steve cut himself off, swiping his hand down his face, pivoting a bit like he might walk away, but then stopping and turning back to face Danny. "I didn't _wear_ mine because I didn't want to leave you in here _by__yourself_!" he hissed.

Danny blinked. "Really?"

Steve nodded.

"You did that for me?"

Steve nodded again. He wondered if his current face was more Grumpy Dwarf (he blamed Grace for that one) or Constipated Gerbil – he liked it when Danny called him that second one. It was something about the way Danny said the word 'gerbil' that made Steve laugh out loud every time.

But he wasn't laughing right now.

"Dammit, Danny, you're worse than a woman sometimes."

"Pffft," Danny said with a wave of his hand.

In the end, Danny wound up with a group of HPD officers playing chicken in the Pacific, Officer Kang on his shoulders with her cast tucked securely under a plastic leg bag, and gales of laughter all around.

Steve wound up sitting on a beach chair grinning like an idiot over all the fun his partner was having. It was something watching Danny loosen up for a change.

And when they wound up back at Steve's place after all was said and done, Steve finally got his own trunks on and waded into the water.

For the first time, Danny joined him.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 68<strong>

Give him the benefit of the doubt when he mis-speaks.

"That is _not_ what I meant!"

"Well, then maybe you shouldn't have said something you didn't mean!"

Eyes glared.

Nostrils flared.

"Steve, I don't _care_ about that!"

"Well, then why did you make that smart-ass remark?"

"Because I'm a smart-ass?"

"Yeah. You are."

"Fuck you."

Steve pointedly looked away.

Danny pointedly kept glaring at him.

The Camaro wasn't even running yet.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve looked back at him, murder in his eyes.

"Steve, I didn't…I didn't mean to…"

"The hell you didn't."

"Well, what the _fuck_? How the hell was I supposed to know those guys were ones you commanded back in the SEALs, huh? Did I get a fucking introduction that _included_ said information that would have been _very__helpful_ in this circumstance? No. All I got was a, 'This is Bob and Jerry,' and how the hell was I supposed to know who they were?"

Steve deflated. "Just never mind."

"No, I will not never mind, Steven. I am going to find out where your two friends are staying, and I am going to march right in there and tell them that I was _joking_, that we joke like that all the time, and that we are not in any sort of relationship—"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Get _what_? The fact that your two _Army_ friends—"

"Agh, _Navy_—"

"—are card-carrying homophobes that I made a joke about us getting a divorce in front of? Yeah, I get it. I screwed up, okay? I fucking get it."

"That," Steve said, eyeing Danny like he might just up and deck him for some reason, "is not the problem."

Danny looked thoroughly confused. "It's not?"

"No," Steve replied with a shake of his head.

Danny sighed deeply, leaned his head back against the headrest and waved his hand in Steve's direction. "Okay, I'll admit it. I got nothing."

"Getting married last month. Civil unioned. Whatever."

Danny gave him a sidelong glance. "For the undercover op we did, yeah, what of it?"

Steve just looked at him.

"What? It was fake, it was for an op, I'll just tell your buddies that, okay?"

Steve continued to look at him.

Danny's eyes widened.

Steve bit his lip.

Danny's jaw dropped. "Oh. My. God."

Steve looked away.

"You told me that was…"

Steve started the car.

"You mean Bob and Jerry…"

Steve threw the car in Reverse.

"_That__'__s_ why they came here, because your status changed and…"

Steve headed out of the parking lot.

"Oh. My. _God_."

"You said that already."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"How was that not fake? How…I didn't…you didn't even…_Steven_!"

Steve looked at him. "We can dissolve it easily, it was just…the governor thought it would be better if it was real, because we weren't sure if those two lieutenants from the base were in on the gun smuggling, and Bob and Jerry came to see whether paperwork that went through the channels was legit. If _we_ were legit, or if I was just trying to claim benefits for a friend."

"Benefits for a friend?"

"It happens," Steve shrugged as he pointed the Camaro toward Danny's new apartment. "People try to cheat the government and the taxpayers out of money all the time. So when the registrar passed the paperwork along to the Navy, the Navy had to look into it."

"How long have you known it wasn't fake?" Danny asked.

At least he didn't sound pissed off anymore.

"Since Bob called me up and said he and Jerry were flying in."

"So last week."

Steve nodded.

"What the hell, Steve. Now when prisoners and our coworkers and everyone else under the sun asks us if we're married…"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

Steve looked across at Danny.

Danny whipped his head around and looked at Steve.

An uncomfortable silence descended as Steve turned to look back at the road and Danny looked out the passenger window.

Finally Steve couldn't take it anymore. "You want a divorce?" He chanced a look across the seat at Danny.

Who was trying so hard not to laugh that the creases at the corners of his eyes were in full effect, and those eyes were twinkling merrily.

Steve gave him a sloppy grin.

"Maybe," Danny said. "Depends on what those benefits are you were talking about."

Steve was very proud of himself for _not_ running the Camaro off the road.


	35. Ways 69 and 70

**Way 69**

Don't quarrel over words.

Steve needed a dictionary.

Only he needed not your average Websters, nor eDictionary and all those like it on the web.

No.

He needed a Danny Dictionary.

Only thing was, there was no such thing.

It had all started with _ergo_.

Ergo?

Ergo.

Now, Steve was no idiot. Nope. In fact, he had some serious skills. He'd had two different engineering majors at Annapolis, graduated top of his class in spite of the extra workload plus the minor in Chinese.

Steve could hold conversations in five different languages fluently, one of which had six dialects unto itself, and that didn't count Hawaiian, Pidgin or English.

He could understand six more languages, but didn't do so well actually speaking them. It was enough to be able to decipher what the enemy was talking about.

But then there was Danny.

Danny and his words.

Jesus Christ, he needed a dictionary.

He'd even settle for a thesaurus.

He knew enough from the tone Danny had – and yeah, he seriously had a tone – to be aware of the fact that "puerile behavior" was not a good thing.

He suspected "jejune tactics" wasn't far behind.

"Ordering me around like some callow rookie" didn't sound good.

Callow. He raised an eyebrow Spock-like at that one.

"A fatuous move" was evidently not something Danny approved of, and Steve was able to conclude that Danny telling him that his mind was "vacuous" had something to do with maybe being out of it. Or not having one.

Or something.

And so it was, when Steve got home that night, he was a little mixed up because while the tenor of Danny's lectures generally revolved around Steve's penchant for acting like a SEAL rather than a cop, today it had been as though Danny had turned into some sort of computer-brained robot that was purposely using words Steve had to literally look up.

So when Danny walked in on Steve poring over his father's old Merriam-Webster dictionary at his father's old desk, Steve did feel a little embarrassed over the fact. But Danny just leaned against the entryway, folded his arms over his chest and gave his partner a small smile.

"Confused you that much, huh?" he asked, and Steve scowled. "Well," Danny continued, shrugging and with his hands out in a _Hey, __what __can __you __do?_ gesture, "considering I find myself having to tell you the same things every single week, I needed a way to make it more interesting for me."

Steve just looked at him.

Danny was purposely using words Steve didn't know because he was _bored_ telling Steve he was disregarding procedure?

Steve rose to his feet and followed his partner into the kitchen. "If you're boring your_self_," he said, folding his arms over his chest as Danny reached into the fridge and pulled out two beers, "then why don't you just stop doing it?"

Luckily, the middle finger Danny held out to him with one hand while simultaneously handing him a beer with the other hand didn't need a thesaurus.

Or a dictionary.

Neither did the twinkle in Danny's eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 70<strong>

Be kind and courteous with him. (Don't be kinder to strangers than to him.)

Steve was pouting.

Danny wasn't sure why.

Yes, Navy SEALs pouted.

Especially when they were like overgrown ten year-olds.

How, again, had this become Danny's life?

He sighed.

"All right, what's with the face?"

The face changed. "What face, Danny?"

"Stop it. You just changed it. You were pouting."

"I do not pout."

"Yes, you do."

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, then looked back out the windshield. At least Danny couldn't give him shit about not watching the road.

"It's nothing," he said.

"The fact that there's an 'it' to be qualified by the word 'nothing' tells me that 'it' exists and is _not_ 'nothing,' my friend."

"Huh?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's recap, shall we?"

"For the love of—"

"No, no. We shall recap. The recap is that I managed to get the information we needed out of a distraught woman, a terrified man and a stubborn teenager without – and may I repeat that here, strenuously, _without_ – utilizing SEAL tactics to obtain said information. Does that about sum it up?"

"Yes, but—"

"And, _and_," Danny continued, finger held up in the air because of course he had a point to make here, "you're pouting because I pissed in your Cheerios by not letting you dangle, squeeze, shoot, clobber, knife or otherwise maim any of the aforementioned persons, am I right?"

"You did not piss in my Cheerios," Steve scowled. Because _ew_. "I just…"

Danny turned his whole body in the passenger seat, which was not easy to do given the tight seat belt, and he would be very happy to tell you about that, you need only ask…and gave his partner a scrutinizing look. "You just what?"

"You treated them like…you were touching the…you _hugged _her…" Steve blew out a puff of air. "How come you're nice to everyone but me?" he blurted out.

Then his face went a little pink.

"How come I'm…" Danny's voice trailed off.

He looked honest-to-God confused for several long seconds as Steve pulled into his own driveway and cut the engine.

Steve looked at Danny, eyebrows tilted upward, lips sucked into his mouth just a bit, nose slightly wrinkled. "It's nothing, Danny," he finally said. "I'm just sayin'."

With that, he got out of the car and stalked toward his house with as much dignity as he could muster sporting a pink face, pink-tipped ears (hell, they were burning, he _knew_ they were pink) and a look of mortification over having actually said something so damn lame to a guy who was more likely than not to give him shit for the rest of his born days about it.

Just as he was inserting his key into the deadbolt of his front door, he felt a touch on his shoulder and whirled around in surprise.

It was Danny, of course, his hand still resting on Steve's shoulder.

Steve's eyes grew wide when Danny looped one arm under Steve's armpit, and brought the hand that was seated on his shoulder around the back of Steve's neck, then physically hauled him forward into Danny-space.

Before Steve knew it, he was being _hugged_.

"Well," Steve said, words muffled by Danny's shirt. "This is new."

Danny growled and then said, "I'm _trying_ to be _nice_ to you."

Steve pulled his head back a bit, but Danny didn't let him go far. Just kept him in the bear hug until Steve gave a slight shrug and wrapped his arms around Danny the same way. "Oh," he said. Then he smiled as Danny released him with a couple back-slaps for good measure. "Do it every day, Danno. I like it."

Danny snorted and rolled his eyes. "Asshole," he muttered, then reeled his partner back in.

Steve didn't care that the second one had come with an insult.

Because he was getting a hug.

From Danny.

And it was nice.


	36. Ways 71 and 72

_Author's Note: Way 71 contains spoilers for Season 1 Episode 24 "Oia'i'o" and all Season 2 episodes._

**Way 71**

When things go wrong, instead of assessing blame, focus on how to do better.

Kono tended to look at things differently than most people.

Part of it was because of having grown up in the shadow of her older cousin, about whom her family…related by blood to the Kellys…had never had a decent word to say after Chin and HPD parted ways.

You tended to not take for granted the little things anymore after a shitstorm like that. Little things like being allowed to call your cousin up to explain your most recent boyfriend woes, as only a girl of twelve can blow it out of proportion.

Little things like being able to jump onto the back of your cousin's motorcycle for a day-long tour of Oahu's most beautiful locales with the wind whipping through your hair and the powerful thrum of a purring engine beneath you.

Little things like being able to see your cousin whenever you wanted, however you wanted, wherever you wanted.

She'd been denied these things because of her family. She loved them, yes, and after Auntie's passing they had begrudgingly come around to not being so harsh on her beloved older cousin. But in between the horrible days of having to listen to them put Chin Ho down and say terrible things about his character, to the days where they were no longer doing so, something had happened.

Two men had shown up in Chin's life. One of them had asked a simple question. And Chin's response had been all he'd needed to take him into his new Five-0 fold. The other had never once looked at Chin sideways or questioned his loyalties or his honesty any more than the first. Maybe because as a cop, and an outsider, he'd somehow understood.

And then all three men had come to the beach that fateful day, to ask Kono to go undercover for them. She had never been more thrilled at not only being able to act like a cop before she even graduated, but to work with Chin Ho Kelly, to boot.

She loved him so very much. He was everything to her: a second father, a confidante, her best friend.

Now she had two more men she loved equally fiercely. One, a short blond _haole_ who was as amusing as he was a damn fine detective. She learned a lot from him, and he never _ever_ hesitated to explain something to her, show her something new, share his different perspective from having lived on the other side of the continent his whole life. Tease her. Yeah, he was fun.

The other, a dark-haired man who'd grown up in Hawaii, who loved Hawaii as much as those native to its soil generationally. He, in his own way, was just as amusing as his partner, what with the amount of explosions and gunfire and other things she'd never heard Chin mention happening so regularly in all his years as a cop. But that man was good at his job, too. She learned from him, and he never _ever_ hesitated to explain something to her, show her something new, share his different perspective from having been in Naval Intelligence and a Navy SEAL for such a large portion of his life.

And when things skidded sideways on a case, like they very often did, she would quietly watch and learn as the _haole_ explained to the SEAL just how fucked up his way of doing things was, and why. It taught her a lot, actually, because she could practically spout the entire procedural manual now, nearly a year after being brought into Five-0, just because Danny had pretty much done so into Steve's ear – loudly – at every opportunity.

But, she now reasoned as she sat in Five-0's headquarters after the five of them had gone "home" at Steve's suggestion, there was one incident that had taught her so much more than the previous year's combined. It hadn't been her own IA investigation. It hadn't even been the aftermath of it, which included appearing to have lost her badge so that she could go undercover to get some bad cops and keep her teammates from the proverbial axe.

No.

It had been what had happened in the aftermath of the week where Governor Jameson had died, where Steve had been arrested by Kono's very own cousin, and where Danny had made plans to leave them all, and then been rudely snapped back to the reality that he and Rachel as an item, wasn't going to happen.

She and Chin had both fully expected Danny to go off every which way he could about how Steve had really and truly fucked things up by choosing to confront Jameson on his own even after being told by Danny _not_ to.

She and Chin had both fully expected Danny to continue degrading the beauty of their state, Steve's mental acuity and his ability to fucking _listen_ to his partner to keep himself out of trouble.

And while Chin did later tell Kono that Danny yelled at Steve rather loudly in Max's apartment, he admitted that even he could tell it was simply Danny's way of handling the emotional roller coaster he was on, which probably included fears that his partner wouldn't survive being on the run from jail.

So now, sitting here in the bullpen with Chin seated so close she could feel his body heat…with Lori standing off to the side, now unsure of her place with Kono having returned to the fold…with Danny reaching out to skim his fingertips over the bruise on Steve's cheekbone from his charity MMA event, muttering about crazy SEALs and their insistence that backing down from a fight is a sign of weakness…Kono realized that maybe all of them had learned something since coming together. Though, of course, she couldn't speak for Lori since she didn't know her at all.

Chin, Kono thought, had learned that not everyone believes rumors, and that some people do still have the ability to trust and love based solely on their belief in another man's character, rather than what other people tell him. Danny, Steve and Kono had put Chin back together after the terrible thing he had endured. He _needed_ them.

She herself had learned that yes, sacrificing yourself for the sake of your family…or _ohana_…was indeed a family trait. And that she'd never been more scared in her life than when she was facing IA and the undercover operation alone. Not because it was dangerous. But because Steve, Danny and Chin weren't there. She'd come to rely on them. She _needed_ them.

Having seen Danny loosening up a bit, from no longer wearing a tie, to actually leaving his shirt unbuttoned two or three down (hey, even _she_ appreciated the chest hairs it showed, come on). From being more open and friendly and less standoffish to everyone around him, to not really caring how easily other people could tell his true feelings about Steve, Chin and Kono. And of course, not busting Steve loudly and at great length about his tactics like he used do, made Kono think Danny had learned to try and figure out how to make things better, easier, how to handle situations with more grace, than he used to…rather than just complaining about how _wrong_ everything was and blaming Steve for everything from the temperature in Hawaii to the fact that a suspect was dead. But the biggest thing was that because of Kono, Steve and Chin…when he didn't have Grace…Danny was no longer alone in Hawaii. He _needed_ them.

And then there was Steve. She figured most of all what he'd learned is that while it sometimes seemed like _everyone_ in his life was out to screw him over any way they could, like everything he'd ever known and loved had been tainted with lie after lie, the fact was that there _were_ people in his life who would _never_ try to hurt him in any way. He didn't have to go things alone anymore, and his fuck-up with Jameson had been the exclamation point to that concept. Danny, Kono and Chin would always support him, love him, and have his back. He _needed_ them.

She still wasn't sure how or where Lori was going to fit into their foursome to make it a fivesome, but regardless of what did or didn't happen with their newest member, the fact still remained that the four core members of the team were still just that: a team.

They would live together, sometimes in cramped quarters, surveillance vans, seedy motel rooms, long hours at HQ or traipsing around Hawaii. They would laugh together over Danny's continued silliness and tendency to revert to a severe Jersey accent when he was tired or exasperated, Steve's unintentional goofiness and single-minded focus, their ability to embarrass Chin pretty easily when push came to shove and Kono's insistence that Hell Week was nothing compared to a year in the life of Five-0.

And they would continue to love one another as only those who'd been through what they'd been through together could.

She grinned as her eyes came to rest on the glaring eyes of a SEAL and the defiant eyes of his partner. Their gazes were locked, their bodies were postured just-so, and Danny was taking a deep breath. She suspected a pretty decent Danny-and-Steve Show was about to start, and _God_, how much she'd missed it.

She saw the frustration and concern in the _haole__'__s_ eyes. Saw how he ran a hand over his forehead, how he balled his hands, then, into fists at his side. How it looked like he was trying to keep from touching McGarrett everywhere just to make sure nothing was busted that his partner was trying to hide. He cared, and everyone knew it. Maybe this time his overabundance of words would be more about being happy Steve was alive and in one piece rather than how stupid he was for doing what he'd done.

Maybe Danny _had_ learned to stop blaming Steve for every little thing that went wrong in their daily lives.

As his mouth opened, though, and Danny started to give Steve holy hell for having fought simply because he'd ripped the shoulder of the guy who _should__'__ve_ been fighting and then had guilt-tripped himself into saying he'd fight in the guy's place, she thought…maybe not so much.

And from the gleam in her boss's eye, she knew that he…that _none_ of them…would want it any other way.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 72<strong>

As a kindness, don't say, "I told you so."

Chin has found Danny Williams highly entertaining from Day One.

The guy really has no shame.

He'd never before met a man who wore his heart on his sleeve like Danny did.

Who made sure everyone within hearing distance knew exactly what those feelings were at any given moment.

Who loved so fiercely, so completely, that you couldn't help but smile with fondness in the face of all that he was, whereas normally you might prefer to drown yourself in one of Hawaii's many waterfalls or even the ocean.

And who, at every opportune moment, loved to say "I told you so."

He'd say it to Kono sometimes. Often to Chin. And always in reference to something their boss had done.

"_Did I or did I not tell you that he'd get himself blown up running into warehouses without waiting for back-up? Huh?"_

Yeah. He had told them that many times. But that man hadn't moved from the side of Steve's hospital bed once in the seven days it took for Steve to wake up from that one.

"_I __saw __this __coming. __I __warned __him, __I __told __him,__ '__Do _not _keep __driving __at __the __speed __of __light __on __dirt __pathways __because __you __will __run __us __over __the __cliff __into __the __ocean.__' __I __told __him __that, __you __know?__"_

Yeah. He had told Steve that many times. But Danny, the one who _wasn__'__t_ a trained swimmer, diver or SEAL, had been the one to extricate Steve from the seat belt, and the Camaro's driver's seat. He'd been the one to haul Steve's unconscious form to the rocky beach. He'd been the one to breathe life back into the lungs of Steve McGarrett.

And the one to make his partner buy him a new car.

"_Steven, __I __swear __to _God _if __you __do _not _wait __for __back-up __this __time __you __are __going __to __get __me __killed, __do __you __get __what __I __am __saying __here? __You __don__'__t __wait __for __back-up __you __won__'__t _have _any__more __back-up, __dammit! __I__'__ve __told __you __this __a _thousand _times!__"_

Yeah. He had.

Chin looked down at the hospital bed where, in a state of utter exhaustion, Steve had slumped forward across Danny's thighs and passed out.

Danny had spent ten hours in surgery after Steve had spent three carrying his partner, unconscious from a nasty head injury, out of the Ewa Forest Reserve. Before that, each and every one of them had been awake for over thirty hours trying to find a suspected murderer who'd fled the latest crime scene on foot. And now, it had been sixteen days since Danny had slipped into a coma on the operating table. Not once had Steve slept. Not soundly, at least.

Chin laid a hand on Steve's back. Steve stirred, cracked open an eye, and looked at Chin. "He'll come out of this, Chin," he whispered before closing his eye again and sinking back into sleep.

When Chin saw Danny's eyelids flutter two days later…when Danny looked at him, then at Kono, and then at Steve asleep over his abdomen…when Danny smiled at them and asked them to bring Grace to him…Chin was very, very glad that this time it would be Steve saying "_I __told __you __so."_

And from the look on Steve's face, so was he.


	37. Ways 73 and 74

**Way 73**

Try not to argue over money. Peacefully discuss future expenditures instead.

"Do you ever take Catherine out to dinner?"

Steve frowned and looked over at his partner. Perched on stools at a local watering hole, they were each holding a bottle of beer, and Steve had been about to take a swig when Danny's question had popped out.

"I _have_, but we tend to, uh, you know. Stay home. More often than not."

"All right, what about going out with your buddies? You know, when you were in the Army."

Steve sighed. He wasn't going to rise to the bait this time. "I guess we went out some, to blow off steam. Not dinner or anything, more like what we're doing here." Steve waved at the bar and then gestured between himself and Danny for emphasis. "But there was a lot of training we had to keep up on, so that's usually what we did nights."

Danny nodded.

Steve looked thoughtful.

Danny sighed.

Steve frowned. "What?"

"Well, it just goes to show that you have absolutely no idea how any of this works," Danny explained, waving his hand in a circular fashion to indicate the bar, them, their beers. "You really don't. You are socially impaired."

"Socially impaired?"

"Yes," Danny said with a firm nod of his head, like he was revealing one of the Secrets of the Universe.

"Is this about me forgetting my wallet again?"

"You think? I mean, look, you insist on wearing cargo pants like they're the latest fashion trend, which means you have what, like, fifty pockets on each leg, and you'll carry bulbous grenades in ten of them but not leave room in even one for your flat wallet." Danny looked over at him. Even sitting down, he had to look up a bit. "This tells me that you either purposely forget your wallet so you don't have to pay if we wind up going anywhere that requires money which is, you know, pretty much _every_where or, and I'll admit it might be a combination of both, mind you, _or_, you are so socially stunted that it never occurs to you someone might actually want to go somewhere with you."

"Bulbous grenades," Steve repeated and Danny rolled his eyes.

They were silent for a moment.

"Well, you know," Steve finally said after having finished half his beer in one swallow, "the last time I went out with friends just for the sake of it was when I had them, when I was a kid here in Hawaii."

"And what, they paid?"

"No, Dad always gave me money. Or Mom," Steve replied. "The Navy doesn't give you much time for a social life when you've dedicated your life to it."

Danny studied his friend. His partner. The albatross around his neck. He studied him carefully, because it was always unexpected moments like these, when Steve wasn't looking at him, when his voice made it sound for all the world like they were just discussing the day's downpour, when Danny hadn't really out-and-out asked him a specific question…it was times like these when he got little glimpses into what made Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett tick.

Steve had probably been so miserable after being sent alone to the mainland, he had kept to himself, been depressed. Mourning his mother. Mourning the loss of his family. Mourning the loss of Hawaii, which he loved to his core.

And then escaping to the Navy.

Dedicating himself to his studies. Being the best at everything, whether academically or physically. Women (or men, because hey, Danny was an open-minded kind of guy) probably propositioned Steve more than most guys breathed in an out in a day, and so whatever things he'd had over the years had probably been casual. And Steve didn't trust others easily – for obvious reasons – so it was possible he hadn't had many friends once leaving Hawaii.

And even if he _had_ considered people to be friends, running around the world from one mission to another and, as he'd said, keeping himself fit and up-to-date on the latest that every Naval Intelligence officer or SEAL needed to know, probably consumed every waking moment of his life. So things like 'going out,' whether on dates or just with a group of people, Danny realized, were most likely _not_ things McGarrett was all that familiar with.

Still didn't explain why the man refused to carry his wallet, though.

"In the SEALs, you only carry what you need for the mission," Steve said, as though the man had read Danny's mind. "Every single item on your person is for the mission. You don't carry your driver's license, your credit cards, your library card, your cash or whatever. You don't have things like that on you when you go out." Steve took another swig of his beer, nearly draining the bottle. Finally…_finally_…he looked Danny in the eye. "Our dog tags are all we need for identification if we go down."

Danny swallowed hard, trying to push the sudden deluge of images from his mind that insisted upon showing him Steve McGarrett being shot full of holes, going down in a blaze of glory as he leapt from the roof of some weird building in some faraway country Danny probably couldn't even pronounce the name of. Of Steve lying there on the ground, eyes wide open to stare Death in the face, alone and lifeless in the pitch-dark night, with only a gleam of silver around his neck to tell anyone who he was.

He supposed all the families of military men felt that way. Hell, he _knew_ the families of cops felt that way. It had been one of the biggest problems in his and Rachel's marriage, this idea that any given moment could be his last because what he did was dangerous.

But at least Danny had carried a wallet. A wallet with a photo of Rachel. And then, later, a photo of Grace. One that was a family portrait of the three of them taken each year at Christmas to be used for their family Christmas card.

Suddenly this wasn't so much about McGarrett never having his wallet on him as it was about how devoid of normality his life had been since the day his mother had died. Danny felt incredible guilt wash over him like a tidal wave for being so goddamn petty. Quietly, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, opened it, took out a twenty and laid it on the bar, shoving it more toward the bartender's side than his and Steve's.

He could feel Steve watching him, watching his hands, looking at the wallet and the money. Front and center there in his tri-fold wallet, was Grace's latest school picture.

"Can I?" Steve asked softly, reaching out toward the photo.

Danny grinned. Any opportunity to share and brag about his daughter would always make him grin. He thumbed the photo out from behind the plastic that protected it and placed it into Steve's waiting hand.

The soft smile that graced his partner's face as he gazed at Grace's big grin and twin pigtails made Danny wonder if Steve wasn't maybe remembering the last time he'd seen a school photo of Mary Ann before his life had literally fallen apart.

"I carried a photo with me for a while, in whatever pocket I could fit it into," Steve confessed, and Danny's eyes were riveted to his partner's face in an instant. "My mom liked to go to church, and every year they'd take every church member's family photo. I remember how much I hated it because they made me wear a suit and tie for it." He huffed out a laugh and glanced at Danny.

Danny smoothed his hand down his loosened tie and grinned. "That would explain your aversion to ties," he said.

Steve nodded and smirked. "And Mary would get _so_ upset. She was always a tomboy, you know? She _hated_ wearing dresses, but Mom always bought her one and made her wear it, and so in every single one of those family portraits, I looked like I was being strangled and Mary looked like she was about three seconds from stripping down to her underwear."

Danny laughed out loud at the image and Steve followed suit as he handed the photo of Grace back to her father.

"The last one of those I had, I carried around until it was so faded and wrinkled that it actually disintegrated when I forgot and left it in a pocket and it went through the laundry." Steve shrugged, watching as Danny carefully reseated Grace's photo back into its spot in his wallet.

Shoving the wallet back into his pocket, Danny watched as the bartender took his twenty, went to the cash register, made change and brought it back. Danny left the ones as a tip and held the five out to Steve.

He loved the confused look Steve got on his face as he asked, "What's that for?"

"So you can buy me a beer," Danny said, reaching out and stuffing the bill into the front pocket of Steve's polo shirt while tipping his bottle back and drinking down the last little bit.

He didn't have time to identify the myriad of looks that flipped into and out of existence on his partner's face, they happened so quickly. But in the end he got a fond smile and eyes that spoke volumes as their gazes locked.

"Okay," Steve said. "I can do that." He raised a hand and signaled for the bartender to bring them two more beers.

Danny looked down at the empty bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, picking at the label. His mind could not get rid of the image of Steve being out there, somewhere on the planet, going everything alone. How he acted on the job with Five-0 kind of made sense when you looked at how Steve did things in the Navy.

Danny took a breath, blew it out and finally said, "You think you'll be gone long?" And there it was…the real reason the two of them were out at a bar together on a Wednesday night.

Steve had been activated.

He was leaving tomorrow morning.

Steve looked sharply at him as the bartender brought them two more beers, then moved down to help two other customers. "You never know how these things will go,," he replied, picking up his bottle and scooting Danny's closer to him. "So there's no way of knowing whether it's long-term or short-term."

"I hope it's short." Danny gave a wry grin. "Like me."

"Not _that_ short!" Steve countered, making Danny bark out a laugh. He considered his partner for a moment, knew what he was thinking. Could see it and read it in every line of Danny's body. "Hey, I stayed alive for over ten years out there, you know," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "Even without my back-up."

Danny looked up at him, and wasn't sure what he was projecting, but it evidently got under Steve's skin, because Steve looked away and swallowed. "Well, before you go," Danny finally said, "I'll make sure you have a photo to put in your pocket. A photo of Grace, maybe. She makes anyone smile." He shrugged, trying to blow it off as being much less of a moment than it was. "You know, so you're not alone with just your dog tags."

Steve nodded, looked away from Danny and into the mirror behind the bar. Danny looked up, and in the reflection he finally saw what he supposed most people did when the two of them were together. They just looked…funny. They were completely opposite physically. Almost hilariously so, when Danny compared their hairstyles, their attire, their coloring, their height differences, and then he thought about their unbelievably different backgrounds and upbringings.

He grinned and it took a moment, but Steve grinned right back.

"Okay," Steve said into the mirror. "I'll take the photo you give me and I'll find a pocket for it."

"You'll be able to find it," Danny said with a wink. "It'll be right next to the five you'll buy me a beer with when you get back."

He smiled at Steve once more, and then looked away. Because it was the only thing Danny could do.

He would save the panic attack he could feel building until he was alone.

Steve would be back.

The panic attack didn't want to wait.

He would.

Danny took a deep breath and then a large gulp of beer.

He _would_.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Well, here, it's happened again. Way 74 has decided it's a companion piece to Way 73.<em>

**Way 74**

Take _him_out on dates—pre-planning all of the details ahead of time.

Everything was perfect.

Danny had it all planned down to the last detail.

Steve would be arriving back at Five-0 headquarters via Navy escort in less than ten minutes.

He'd been gone for over two months.

His text message had assured Danny he was in one piece.

Danny wouldn't believe a word of it until he saw him.

He'd orchestrated the whole thing, right up to and including the fact that Grace was standing by his side.

After all, it'd been _her_ photo Steve had taken with him.

Mary Ann was even there.

So was Governor Denning.

Toast.

Max.

Kamekona.

Everyone.

They would greet him.

They would welcome him home.

Governor Denning would officially transfer command of the task force from Danny back to Steve.

Then the _ohana_ were going out to celebrate.

The room at the Waikiki Beach Resort was booked, set up, and decorated.

Grace herself had helped with the menu.

There would be excellent food. There would be alcohol. Juice and milk for Grace, of course. Shave ice for dessert because hey, Kamekona.

Toast promised not to smoke a joint in front of Danny's daughter, even.

Max promised he wouldn't talk about dead bodies in front of her, either.

They all stood with bated breath.

They heard a door open.

A figure appeared down the hall.

Danny felt his pulse pick up. Felt blood rushing through his ears.

They'd all know that shape anywhere.

Grace smiled. Then she all-out grinned.

Before Steve was even halfway down the hall, she was out the door and leaping into his arms for a hug.

It seemed fitting to Danny that she would be the first to welcome him.

They could hear her voice from the bullpen. They could hear Steve's voice, and the resulting laughter.

And then there he was.

Standing right in front of them, Grace held in one arm.

And then he was engulfed.

Chin and Kono.

Kamekona.

Even Toast and Max.

Finally, Mary Ann, with tears in her eyes as she hugged Grace's legs along with her brother's waist.

Then Grace got down.

Steve kept hold of her hand as he looked up to where Danny had waited. Possibly just to let everyone else say hello first. Possibly because he didn't have to fight panic attacks anymore. Possibly because yeah, Steve was in one piece. Possibly...Danny wasn't going to think about _why_.

Governor Denning approached Steve, told him the task force was once again his, nodded at Danny and the rest of the room in general, welcomed Steve back, and was gone.

"We've got _plans_, Boss," Kono said, jabbing at Steve's arm with a gentle fist.

"We do?" Steve asked with a blink.

"Danny insisted," Chin added.

Steve raised his eyebrows and looked over at Danny, who was still over ten feet away. "Oh, he did, did he?" His face morphed into that sloppy half-grin he often sported. "I think," he continued, slapping every pocket on his body as he melodramatically pretended to search for something, then finding it, reached in and pulled it out. "That I owe him a drink."

Danny looked at Steve's hand.

It held Grace's school photo.

And a five-dollar bill.

"Later," Danny said waving him off gruffly. "Right now, we've got a party to get to."

Everyone filed out of the bullpen but Steve, who held the door open as Danny approached. "Later, huh?" Steve said with a grin.

"Yep," Danny nodded brusquely. "I've got it all planned out for after the party, and after we drop Grace back at Rachel's."

"Ah," Steve nodded sagely, putting the photo and the five back into one of the pockets on his cargo pants. "You do, do you?"

"I do indeed," Danny replied.

Steve's arm came around Danny's shoulders as they headed for the exit.

Danny wanted to pinch himself.

It had been a _long_ two months.

But Steve looked like he was in one piece, truly, though Danny didn't doubt there were more than a few bruises hiding under his clothes. Above all, he'd come back.

Danny leaned a little closer as they walked, as Steve's arm settled more heavily across his shoulders. It should've been weird, but it wasn't.

He was here. He'd come back.

Now maybe Danny could stop having those nightmares. The nightmares that had led him to phone Rachel at one in the morning three weeks after Steve's departure, to tell her he _finally_ understood what she'd gone through worrying herself sick over someone she cared about.

Strangely, since then, the two had been civil, almost sympathetic, toward each other.

There was no dead body of a fallen soldier.

No flag-draped coffin.

No _Taps_.

Danny's imagination was vivid. It had run wild.

He snuffled a bit, allowing the last of the horrifying images to slip away.

Christ. Five-0 was _nothing_ on a daily basis compared to what those dreams had been like. Besides, Danny was here to watch his partner's back. To him, that made all the difference in the world. Maybe it wasn't logical, but he held onto it.

Steve looked down at him and gave him a goofy thousand-watt grin to accompany the one-armed squeeze-hug he was also giving him. "It's good to be home, Danno." Then he pulled something out of his pocket and placed it in Danny's hand.

It was Steve's wallet.

"Yeah," Danny nodded, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat as they walked into the bright Hawaiian day. He stared at the wallet for a moment, blinking at the spots the unrelenting sun put in his eyes. Steve's wallet. He'd remembered it.

They stopped.

Danny looked up at his partner, who was grinning at Grace as she motioned them over to the Camaro with flailing arms that were way too much like Danny's sometimes got.

"Yeah," Steve replied.

Like that one word said everything.

Maybe it did.


	38. Ways 75 and 76

**Way 75**

Hold his hand and snuggle up close to him at times both at home and in public.

It's been too long.

There's no way Steve will survive the blood loss.

Danny fights to keep from shivering into shock himself. Can't think about his own broken arm.

Can only think about how Steve's very life is ebbing away, soaking into the sand as if Hawaii wants its prize son returned at last.

_No._ Danny just keeps thinking that, and cursing and blaming and hating Hawaii. It can't have him back. Not yet.

Hawaii had always been a part of Steve, even while he was traveling the world.

Now it looks like Steve is destined to become part of Hawaii.

_It's not over yet._

Danny has done what he can, but he's no field medic.

He was never in the military.

_It can't be over yet._

He doesn't know all the tricks Steve knows, and Steve's been unconscious since they slipped, slid and fell down the cliff after nearly getting run over by a suspect in his truck.

The truck that flew into the ocean.

The suspect that drowned.

Danny doesn't care.

_Don't leave me alone here, you bastard._

He's been trying to hold Steve's neck together with his own shirt. Keep his jugular from spurting using seaweed. A flat rock. A shell. His own hands, now.

He'd phoned Chin.

_Hurry, hurry, Chin._

But Steve's bleeding out so fast.

He hears the helicopter blades coming closer.

_Steve._

He hauls the larger man into his arms. He takes one of his boss's hands into his own, clutching it tightly to his chest. He closes his eyes.

_Please don't die._

* * *

><p>Steve's home.<p>

Danny comes up the stairs and walks quietly into his bedroom.

_There he is._

It's been a week since it happened, and he's still compelled to check, double-check, triple-check that Steve's really okay.

A lot like he used to do with Grace back when he still lived with her every day.

_So long ago._

Steve's asleep.

Danny can't close his eyes lately, can't sleep much, because the blood that fills his vision, the unnatural paleness that was Steve's skin…the way Chin and the medics had to pry Steve's far-too-cold body from his arms, uncurl Danny's fingers from Steve's hand…it's still too fresh.

_Soothing words from Chin._

Too raw.

They'd never come this close before. Not to _truly_ losing.

_Hawaii would go dark and cold if Steve returned to its soil._

He knows Steve's out like a light due to painkillers. He'd suffered broken bones, cracked ribs.

Danny had forgone his own painkillers so he could drive over here.

_Ignore the pain._

But since Steve is dead to the world, he thinks maybe he can get away with this.

Just for a few minutes, because…

…maybe it'll make him finally be able to sleep.

_He's going to give me such shit._

He toes off his shoes. He sits on the edge of the bed.

Just for a few minutes.

_He won't even know._

He _needs_ this. To feel not-cold, not-dying, not-bleeding-out. To replace the ghost of the exact opposite that haunts his arms, his hand.

Even with his arm in sling, he needs to do this, and gently removes the sling so he can. The cast on his forearm is heavy. He ignores it.

_None of that matters. I didn't almost die._

Twists, grimaces in pain, moves to wrap his arms around his partner.

To feel he's alive.

_He's alive._

Steve gasps, eyes wide open, waking from a nightmare, maybe, or SEAL training kicking in, alerting him to the intruder.

He grabs the front of Danny's plaid button-down shirt.

_He's going to kill me._

Stares into his eyes for a moment.

Clasps Danny's hand.

_Maybe not._

Leans into Danny's chest.

Danny's arm comes around his shoulders.

_I got this._

Tomorrow when they show up at HQ, they'll act like they weren't here. Like they weren't _both_ needing the reassurance.

Hoping that they'll never need it again.

_I got you._

For now, they'll sleep, nightmares chased away.

_Okay._

* * *

><p><strong>Way 76<strong>

Praise his good decisions; minimize the bad ones.

All right, so the hike to the petroglyphs had turned into the mother of all clusterfucks.

It wasn't his fault.

And okay, so lying to the Feds about Matt Williams being on a boat, on the opposite side of Oahu from where he _really_ was, had gotten him the tongue-lashing of a lifetime from the governor.

He'd done it for Danny.

Let's be honest here and admit that breaking out of jail and going on the run after being shanked had been not only risky, but probably the most blatantly illegal thing Steve had ever done.

But he'd done it to try and stay alive.

All right, so going along with every hare-brained idea Steve had from driving onto ships with cop cars to blowing the doors off pawn shop offices with grenades to breaking and entering suspects' motel rooms wasn't exactly up to his usual law-abiding standards.

It wasn't his fault. Steve was always ten steps ahead of him. He had no choice but to follow.

And okay, so letting his brother go at the airport rather than shooting him just enough to incapacitate him and haul him in had been the epitome of bad decision-making.

He'd done it for…who? His parents? Matt? Himself?

Let's be honest here and admit that having sex with Rachel while she was still married to Stan, and then just up and agreeing to leave Hawaii at the drop of a hat without even waiting to find out _more_ about the pregnancy, about what Rachel really and truly wanted, had turned into the mother of all clusterfucks, and not just for him and Rachel. If _only_ he'd been there for Steve that night.

But he'd done it, and he was still suffering for it. Steve had suffered, too.

Steve didn't mention any of it.

Danny didn't mention any of it.

Instead, they enjoyed the here and now.

Where they were ensconced on Steve's sofa with a football game blaring from the television set.

Where they were three sheets to the wind and working their way progressively toward a fourth.

Where there was nothing life-threatening, nothing looming, nothing wrong.

Just them. Just best friends. Just guys who'd gone through hell and back, sometimes separately and sometimes together. Just men who cared way more than they maybe should've, but couldn't bring themselves to stop.

They looked at each other across the length of the couch and smiled drunkenly.

Best decision they'd ever made.


	39. Ways 77 and 78

**Way 77**

Tell him you love him more _often._

Okay, so Danny isn't quite sure what's going on. But something definitely _is_.

See, thing of it is, he's a detective, right? So he detects things for a living.

Damn good at it, too.

Ace shot, if you want to be smug about it.

He wakes up on the last morning that his little apartment will be his little apartment anymore, sure that something's happened while he slept. Niggling at the back of his brain is the thought that he's homeless as of today.

But his eyes open to check things out, because something's definitely going on.

Opens his eyes to find a steaming hot cup of pure Kona coffee, a bag containing two malasadas, and a print-out that is a computer-drawn map that reminds him of ones they used to use for treasure hunts at his mom's church when he was a kid.

Only this is _way_ high-tech.

He figures it has to have been Steve who ninja'd into his apartment without even waking him, so he thinks, okay, this I'll go along with. Because hey, coffee and malasadas, right?

He doesn't think he recognizes much about the map, but since it's actually just a bunch of straight lines drawn from point to point and contains no landmarks to help guide him on his quest, that doesn't concern him too much.

He showers. He gets dressed. It's Saturday and all his stuff's already in a tiny little storage place. All except his sofa bed which, simply out of spite, he's going to leave _in_ the apartment. Just to piss his landlord who sold the building to begin with, right the hell off.

Danny can passive-aggressive anyone under the table.

He turns the keys in to the building manager, doesn't look back at the apartment as he drives away. It was a shitty apartment, anyway. Whatever.

Now he's homeless. Can't afford anything on this god-forsaken hunk of lava rock.

He sighs.

He follows the map.

And starts recognizing the route.

He grins.

Yep. It was Steve.

And since he's a damn fine detective, he already knows what this is about.

He pulls into the McGarrett driveway. He sits there for a moment. He looks up at the house, and sees Steve's face disappear from a second-story window.

He smiles and shakes his head. Gets out of the Camaro, walks in the front door.

Never could've detected this in a million years, though, and man enough to admit it.

"Welcome home, Danno."

Steve's standing on the bottom step that leads upstairs.

Home. Here? Really?

The living room is piled high with everything Danny owns that's in Hawaii. From the storage space he'd rented.

Wow.

"Come on, let me show you something," Steve says, beckoning Danny to follow.

So he does because, you know, it's Steve.

Steve opens one of the bedroom doors opposite his room. "This one's for you," he says, then moves along and opens a second door. "And this one's for Grace when you have her."

Danny swallows. Steve's and Mary Ann's childhood rooms.

Maybe he needs to rethink how good a detective he is. For a guy to offer this to his partner, his saddled-with-a-kid partner, his Between-Alimony-and-Hawaii's-Expenses-I'm-Embarrasingly-Homeless-Partner without any jokes, any ribbing, any commenting, well…it's a bit above and beyond, and Danny, no, he didn't see this coming.

All he can do is smile at his partner's goofy grin 'cause, you know, as vocal as he usually is, the whole man-emotion thing's a little weird when you're up against a Navy SEAL and really, he knows, has always known that Steve's a big-hearted man but, shit. What's a poor schlub from Jersey done to deserve _this_?

"I thought today we'd take her to the store so she can pick out what color paint she wants," Steve says. "You, too."

He's still got that big, I-Have-The-BEST-Ideas grin on his face.

"Furniture and beds are still good, we'll get new bedding, though," Steve continues excitedly.

And Danny realizes this is more than about giving Danny a place to live, a place to spend time with his precious baby girl.

This is making Steve…_happy_.

Danny shakes his head fondly. "I'm sure the sheets you have left over will do," he says, because, you know, no reason to spend money needlessly and all that.

Steve shrugs, but Danny can see he's got no intention of letting his partner or his partner's daughter sleep on anything but new sheets.

And that right there, well, you know, it makes his chest feel tight a little and he thinks, there are worse things in the world than being Steve McGarrett's roommate.

But, he suspects, as Steve continues prattling on about fun designs they can stencil onto Gracie's bedroom walls, there may not be anything better.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 78<strong>

Put love notes in his pockets and brief case.

Danny shook his head as he fiddled with the small object in his hand. Why he'd ever agreed to do this was beyond him except it really wasn't, because _Grace_.

She'd insisted.

They'd spent the past week in school, she'd explained Saturday, talking about Random Acts of Kindness. Things like smiling at someone when you walked past them, or paying for the coffee of the guy in line behind you at Starbucks, or noticing when someone seemed down and trying to bring them up.

And this.

_This_, Danny thinks, looking down at the small piece of paper in his hand.

"Uncle Steve looks worried all the time," Grace had said solemnly. She'd seen him the weekend before when Danny had taken her to Five-0 headquarters to file the final report on their most recent case. Steve had been there poring over intel that wasn't getting any of them anywhere on their hunt for Wo Fat.

Grace was right, of course, she was always right because she was Grace. Steve was trying to act like his life hadn't fallen apart, then sort of gotten put back together and then been flying nearly out of control ever since.

Lori was grating on them because for all that she was a fine profiler and officer, her goo-goo eyes at Steve, the conversation Chin had relayed to Danny and Steve in confidence when they'd been waiting at the motel room, well, it had made Steve so uncomfortable he'd really been trying to avoid Lori ever since.

Danny couldn't blame him. Getting involved with coworkers was a really, _really_ epically bad idea whether you actually liked them or not. Worse, though, if you truly did.

That whole "I'll tape your hand" thing had really been over-the-top. Steve had told Danny about it over beers the night after, right before telling Danny how another person had died because of his quest.

And what Joe had said to him.

That had pissed Danny off, but since then, Steve had just looked forlorn. Lost. Not sure of his next move and for Steve, that was bad.

Danny knew it was because while Steve wanted nothing more than to keep after Wo Fat with guns blazing, Joe's words had laid a guilt trip on him the size of the Pacific Ocean. He knew for sure that Steve had most likely spent every night since then thinking of all the horrible ways those he cared for might die next if he kept going.

Chin Ho, Kono. Maybe Lori or Dr. Bergman. Frighteningly, Catherine. Danny and Grace. Maybe Rachel or Stan, because Wo Fat was that kind of monster. Kamekona, the new governor. It could be anyone, anytime, anywhere. Joe. Dr. Asano. Anyone Steve might call friend. Hell, anyone Steve might've only said 'hello' to, for all they knew.

Nobody could know but Wo Fat.

So yes, Steve was understandably not in a good place right now.

Danny knew Steve would be strolling into his house any minute now from his morning swim, and so Danny needed to get out of there. He took the piece of paper in his hand, stuffed it into one of the pants pockets in the last pair of Steve's cargo pants that was hanging in his bedroom closet, and closed the closet door.

Quietly he made his way down the stairs and out the front door, setting the alarm for Stay Mode and locking the door behind him. He pulled away, headed to HQ and waited.

* * *

><p>Weeks passed. Danny didn't have an answer every time Grace asked him what Uncle Steve thought of her Random Acts of Kindness that her father insisted he had indeed passed along to his boss.<p>

Danny himself wondered if maybe Steve really _didn__'__t_ use all the pockets in his cargo pants, thus not finding the randomly-placed pieces of paper no bigger than those found in fortune cookies.

And then one morning, when Danny pulled a pair of dress pants out of his closet and put them on in preparation for work, he went to slide his phone into his right pocket and felt something already in there. Frowning, he switched the phone to his other hand and pulled the object out.

It was a piece of paper, right about the size of those found in fortune cookies.

Taken aback, he unfolded it.

_Thank __you._ That was all it said.

Danny smiled. Now he had something to tell Grace at last.

And when he got to work, he noticed Steve didn't look quite as worried as he had since Wo Fat's visit to Joe.

Steve was actually _smiling_.

And later, while Steve and Kono were out getting lunch for the team as they worked through another case, and Danny stepped into Steve's office to deposit a printout in his chair, he stopped short at what he saw on the desk.

Taped there, carefully and symmetrically, were ten small fortune-cookie-sized pieces of paper with his beloved daughter's handwriting on them. They had been arranged just so. He stopped and read them.

Because he hadn't before. Because Grace had asked him not to, citing the fact that they were meant to be private.

Well, Steve had left them out in the open, so Danny was going to look.

_Amazing_, the first one said.

_Honest_, stated the second.

_Trustworthy_, was the word on the third.

_You take good care of me when my Danno can't._

Danny felt his eyes sting a bit on that one.

_Nice smile._

_Thank you for keeping my Danno safe._

_Let him drive his car sometimes._

Danny barked out a laugh that came out halfway tangled with a sob of joy, of acknowledgement that his daughter truly was unbelievable.

_You are a very good person._

_Not everything is your fault._

That one made Danny tear up against his will.

But it was the last one that made one of those tears escape and roll down his cheek.

_I love you, Uncle Steve._

Danny felt a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even heard his sneaky partner enter. The smile on Steve's face told Danny that maybe, just maybe, Steve had already shed his share of tears over the innocent kindness of a little girl.

So he didn't wipe his own tear away.

And he didn't shrug Steve's hand off his shoulder.

Instead, he stood. _They _stood.

Together.

Maybe all Steve needed was to know he was loved.

Maybe Grace had accomplished that.

Steve squeezed his shoulder, then let go and leaned down to pick the printout up off his chair.

Danny thought maybe he should take some cues from his daughter.

And so with Lori, Chin and Kono not ten feet from Steve's office door, he turned around and gave his partner a hug.

A Random Act of Kindness could be anything, Grace had explained.

When Steve wrapped his arms around him to hug him back, Danny decided _this_ might just be his favorite one of all.


	40. Ways 79 and 80

_Author's Note: So as you can see, I'm a little late posting this chapter today, and I have a legitimate reason! It's because yours truly, the one known here as TB's LMC, has just officially become a novelist! My new book "Takers" is now available (Amazon Kindle format only right now) on Amazon's website. If you search Science Fiction or Fantasy Books for TAKERS by Chris Davis, you can find it._

_So for those of you who enjoy my writing, maybe go have a look. Especially if you liked my 'Hawaii Five-0' story "If I Was Your Vampire."_

_You can also just check out my author profile, which now has my author's blog website on it, and there's a link from there directly to the page on Amazon with my novel._

_Don't worry, I'm not going to stop writing fan fiction just because I'm a "published author" now. I just thought you might like to know!_

* * *

><p><strong>Way 79<strong>

Sit with him while he's watching TV—even if the program doesn't interest you.

"Why are you sitting here on the couch?"

*blink* "Because it's _my __couch_?"

*eyeroll* "I _know_ it's your couch, Commander Obvious. What I mean is, you _hate_ New Jersey. Why are you sitting here on the couch with me watching a documentary about New Jersey?"

*tiny frown* "Because it's…_my __couch_?"

*glare* "Are you being deliberately obtuse or were you seriously, and really, I'm not kidding here, dropped on your head? _Multiple_ times?"

*eyebrows going up* "I was not dropped, Danny. I am not being deliberately anything. What I _am_ wondering is why you wanted to watch this on my television, and then decided to ask me why I'm sitting in front of _my_ television…on _my_ couch…watching this with you in _my_ living room." *beat* "Where did you expect me to be?"

"Somewhere nowhere near New Jersey?"

*smirk* "We'd have to stop being partners for that to happen."

*huff* "Oh, you are such a funny man. I just thought, you know, you'd be tinkering on your dad's car or something for these two hours instead of being subjected to the narrator extolling the virtues of my origins."

"I highly doubt your origins, or anything else about you, for that matter, are in any way virtuous."

*wide eyes* "Are you questioning my mother's virtue?"

*eye roll* "I think we need to stop having this conversation yesterday."

"I agree."

"Good."

"Good."

*beats*

"Steve, why are you still sitting here watching New Jersey?"

"I watch New Jersey every _day_ with _you_ around. I am sitting here _with __you_ on _my __couch_ in _my __house_ watching a documentary about _your __home __state_ because _you_ like it."

*one raised eyebrow* "Really?"

"_Now_ who was dropped on their head?"

"Shut up."

"You're missing the part about Springsteen."

*hand-flap* "I already know all this."

"Then why the _hell_ are we watching it?"

*steady gaze* "Because it's about New Jersey."

*beats*

"I'm going out to work on my dad's car."

"_Booooorn __in __the __U.S.A.!__"_

"WITH EARPLUGS IN!"

*smirk*

* * *

><p><strong>Way 80<strong>

Don't expect him to read your mind (despite your thinking he should— extend grace).

"We need to work on our communication."

"What are you talking about? We communicate just fine."

"Oh, like when you use those hand signals that make it look like you've got Tourettes in sign language?"

"Those are standard military hand signals!"

"Military. Steve, we're _not __military_. We're goddamn _cops_."

"The civilian side of the military."

"Okay, first? No. Just. No. Second? No."

"Those are not reasons. All you said was 'no.' 'No' is not a reason."

"Yes, yes, it is. 'No' is a very valid reason, because while I can use my hands to enhance my verbal points quite artfully indeed, these hand signals you insist on flinging at me when both of us are crouched behind a single barrel for cover while being _shot__at_ by a guy with an Uzi, are nothing more than hand ticks. You need to effing _talk_ to me if you want me to take the high road and you to take the low road."

"You can't always talk in combat situations!"

"Oh, my _God_, _now_ what the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I'm _trying_ to make myself as compact as possible. In case you haven't noticed, this barrel isn't providing us with a whole lot of cover."

"All right, you know what? I'm really happy for you that you can put your legs behind your neck because you do yoga on a daily basis. That particular talent has _so_ many applications in the field. Perhaps the nice man with the Uzi will ask you to have tea after. I, however, while you two Downward Dog, will be making like John Travolta over there. Behind that wall. Legs under me. Like a _normal_ person."

"John Travolta?"

"Yeah. Stayin' alive."

…

…

"Here, Danny, let me give you a hand signal you _don__'__t_ need a military manual to interpret."


	41. Ways 81 and 82

**Way 81**

Periodically, give him time with his family alone.

The door was unlocked. Damn McGarrett and his continued refusal to secure his home. Sure, he'd installed an alarm system but, you know, one of those things doesn't work unless you actually _use_ it.

Go figure.

He swung the door open, closed it softly behind him. He heard voices coming from the lanai and thought maybe Catherine was in town, or perhaps Mary Ann had come in from LA for a visit. Strange that Steve wouldn't have mentioned that yesterday, but if Mary was anything like her brother, it was entirely possible she'd flown in without even telling _him_ and just shown up on his doorstep.

_Their_ doorstep. Technically the house belonged to both McGarretts, Danny reminded himself.

He took the six-pack of Longboards he'd brought with him and put them in the fridge. He was about to take three out when a raised voice – which he easily identified as belonging to Mary Ann – wafted through the open lanai doors.

"You don't get to decide that for me!"

Danny raised his eyebrows, hesitating with the fridge door wide open and his hands on three of the six beers he'd brought.

Steve's voice was audible, but he couldn't make out his words.

"I'm telling you, I think Hawaii's nice and all, it's pretty, but it hurts too much, Steve."

Mary was heading inside and Danny bit his lip. This wasn't one of those situations you really wanted to walk into. Soon Steve's voice came in clearer as he followed Mary into the house. They stopped in their father's office.

"…don't have to give up your half of this place, Mare. You might need the equity someday, and what if something happens to me? You'll get the house automatically if I die."

"Look, just because you have a death wish—"

"Christ, I don't have a death wish, I just do a dangerous job!"

"Well, I don't _want_ my name on this house. I want nothing more to do with it, okay? Why can't you understand that?"

Danny heard Steve inhale, and then puff out his exhale. He knew that meant Steve was desperately trying to rein in his frustration.

"Look, I'm glad you found someone, that you're getting married, okay?" Danny's eyebrows shot up. Mary Ann? Married? Really? "But just because you're going to change your last name doesn't mean you can abandon everything McGarrett."

"Abandon _you_, isn't that what you mean?"

"What? No, I—"

"Look, Steve," Mary Ann said, then sighed loudly. Danny suddenly knew he'd stuck around too long. He felt like a voyeur and they didn't even know he was there, which made it ten times worse. How'd he always get himself into these damn situations?

"Mary—"

"No," Mary interrupted. "My turn."

Danny could imagine Steve pursing his lips and gesturing for her to continue. He'd done it to Danny plenty of times.

"It's not like I want to go another decade without seeing you or talking to you, okay? But I fucked up my life because I wanted to get attention, and now that I'm clean, I'm sober and I've held down a job for a while, I've gotten rewarded with someone who isn't fucked up. Someone whose family doesn't have somebody after them trying to destroy them. Someone who lives somewhere that holds only _good_ memories for me, and no ghosts."

There was a long pause. Danny wondered if they were hugging. Christ, he hated the fact that he was still standing at the fridge. At least he'd had the presence of mind to close the door.

"Look," Mary Ann finally said and yeah, her voice was muffled so she was definitely hugging her brother, "all I want is to start over. We'll come visit, you can come visit us when we get our own house. Heck, maybe I'll even break our streak and have a kid, who knows?"

Steve snorted out a laugh and Danny had to fight the urge to do the same.

"Hey, I liked Danny's kid last time I saw her. She was cool."

"Yeah, Grace _is_ cool."

Danny beamed with pride. Talking about his daughter, now that was nice to hear.

"Speaking of which, I heard from Kono that Danny's been having to stay at motels or shack up with one of you guys for the past month."

"Yeah, he's got that damn stubborn pride of his. Won't take me up on my offer to move in here."

Danny frowned. It wasn't stubborn pride, it was common sense! You don't _live_ with your damn boss! What the hell?

"Well, maybe with me not claiming my old room anymore, you can make it up for Grace and get Danny to take your old room."

"I tried that argument even before you came here to tell me you didn't want your half of the house. At least let me buy you out, Mare."

"I'll accept that only if you say it's a wedding present."

There was a moment of silence. Danny held his breath, so afraid now that they'd find him there like some creepy Peeping Tom.

"Fine. Okay, fine. Wedding present. College fund for those two-point-five kids you're going to have. Downpayment on your own house. Whatever. I'll go to the bank Monday and get it taken care of."

"Okay. But you know, Steve, there is one other thing you could do with the half of the house you're buying off me. Something that mind change Danny's mind."

"What's with the interest in Danny so much?"

Danny wanted to know the same thing.

"Do you wanna hear my idea or not, jeez!"

"Yeah, yes, okay, fine. What's your idea?"

"Why not sell my half of the house to Danny?"

"Do what?"

"No, look, that way, he doesn't feel like he's getting charity. He's having to pay monthly payments toward owning half this place, and it gives him a foothold here, gives him something for his kid if anything happens to him, you know, in that dangerous job you do," she said, mimicking his tone from earlier.

Danny's eyes were wide.

He didn't even know how to process that suggestion.

Nor why Mary would even care.

"Why do you care so much about Danny's living arrangements, and his daughter, anyway?" Steve asked, voice a lot softer than its normal timbre.

"I like him," Mary said. "Maybe in another life it would've been _him_ I was marrying."

"Are you serious?"

Danny nearly choked on his own breath. Say _what_?

"Besides, it's obvious you guys care a lot about each other, and since it doesn't look like either one of you are going to get married yourselves any time soon, why not be smart about the whole thing, you know?"

There was a pregnant silence in the moments after, and Danny could only imagine what Steve was thinking. He knew what _he_ was thinking, which was…well…it really wasn't a bad idea after all, come to think of it.

Huh.

But marry Steve's sister? Really? She'd never even let on she liked Danny, and he couldn't even reconcile their last interaction with anything she'd just said.

Weird.

"Hey, look, I promised Leilani that I'd meet her for dinner, so I'm going to head out. Want to come?"

"No," Steve said, and his voice sounded strange to Danny's ears. "I've got some things to handle here tonight."

"Okay. Don't wait up, big brother."

Steve huffed out a laugh.

Danny heard Mary leave through the front door, then started when Steve strolled into the kitchen. He stood there looking at Danny with the ghost of a smile on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. "Well?" he said.

Danny knew him well enough to know the look in his eyes was uncertainty. Not something often seen there.

"We could talk about it," Danny finally said. "Didn't mean to eavesdrop." He turned and opened the fridge, pulled out two beers, popped the tops with the can opener that hung magnetized to the fridge and held one out.

Steve crossed the room and took it. He smiled down at Danny, drank a few gulps of beer and then headed for the lanai.

Danny followed.

"Why the hell would she want to marry _me_?" Danny blurted out.

Steve turned and looked at him for a beat, then laughed out loud. "I have _no_ idea what she could find attractive about you."

Danny carded his fingers through his hair and puffed his chest out. "I guess I've still got it, babe."

Clapping his hand on Danny's shoulder a few times, Steve chuckled. "That you do, Detective. That you do."

"You'd really want me to live here?"

"How many times do I need to offer for you to believe that I do?"

"Okay," Danny said, seating himself in his standard white beach chair. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask, Danny. That's all I ask."

* * *

><p><strong>Way 82<strong>

Check with him before you throw away his papers and stuff, when possible.

"What's all this?"

"All the boxes of files and papers your dad kept."

"And why are they all over the living room floor?"

"So we can go through them together."

"Um…why?"

"You need to clean this place out, Steve. Make it your own. I'm helping."

"Um…why?"

"You know, sometimes you give cavemen a bad name. And stop with the Aneurism Face."

"I don't have—okay, fine. Fine, lemme grab a couple waters and we can start going through it, okay? I've got a shredder in one of the spare rooms, I'll grab that, too."

"Good. I'll get a couple trash bags."

* * *

><p>"And this was my final high school report card."<p>

"Jesus, I can't believe he kept all this. I bet Mom and Pop's attic back home is stuffed full of shit like this, too."

"I guess it was his way of making sure the family would always be here."

"Hey, McGarrett…"

"Mm?"

"Long as you keep from getting yourself shot full of holes when you're, you know, dragging me into firefights on a semi-daily basis, the family _will_ always be here."

"Yeah. Thanks, Danny."

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to go through all your childhood photos. _Many_ opportunities for busting your ass, my friend. _Oh_, so many."

"You don't have to help me with this, you know."

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss Baby Stevie for all the tea in China."

"You don't drink tea."

"And you came out of the womb in fighting ninja mode."

"I did not!"

"Then open that box and prove it."

"Must you know every detail of my life?"

"You bet your ass."

"Fine. But no comments about my pajamas."

"Your pajamas?"

"Or my hair."

"Your hair."

"Or my braces."

"Oh, this is _so_ blackmail material."

"Oh, no you don't. I can blackmail you right back."

"With _what_?"

"With the baby pictures your sister Eve emailed to me."

"You talk to my _sister_ on _email_?"

"Turn about's fair play, Danno."

"I hate you."

"You won't once you see me as a baby. I was adorable."

"You? Adorable? This I have to see. Wait, wait, what did you just put into the shredder?"

"None of your business."

"You are _not_ allowed to shred your baby pictures! _Gimme_ that!"

* * *

><p>"I don't suppose either of you are going to explain the bruises and scratches."<p>

"No, Chin, we are not. However, I _will_ tell you that a picture is worth a thousand words."

"Or a thousand defensive wounds, Danny?"

"Exactly, my Hawaiian friend. Exactly."


	42. Ways 83 and 84

_Author's Note: Minor spoilers for Season 2 Episode 6 "Ka Hakaka Maika'i."_

**Way 83**

Work to keep yourself in shape in every way.

There had once been a time in Danny's life when 'working out' had meant spending some time in the gym. Or at Manny's in the ring. He'd always enjoyed the sparring, the weight of the gloves on his hands. Watching McGarrett gear up for an MMA match had brought back some memories.

But that had been a long time ago.

And Danny prided himself on keeping his body in good shape because hey, he was _not_ going to become one of those soft-bellied cops that was so stereotypical. So he liked malasadas. It just meant he'd have to do that much more cardio to keep them from giving him a gut.

Or, that _would__'__ve_ been his plan.

Then he'd gotten Steve McGarrett as a partner, and his definition of 'workout' had changed dramatically. Oh, he still hit the gym, but not nearly as often as he had in Jersey, and he was finding out he didn't _need_ to.

Because getting into flat-out sprints that sometimes went on so long even _McGarrett_ got winded…or having to climb up, around and through the middle-of-nowhere rainforests (and really, how could there be so much of that on an _island_, for God's sake?)…or having his heart pumping double-time with adrenaline coursing through his veins at _least_ once a day thanks to his partner, were doing the job for him.

And really, the fact that he could keep up (well, except for when he'd had the ACL injury, but his knee was perfectly fine now) with a guy whose strides mirrored those of a damn giraffe on the run from predators, was a fact of which he was very, very proud.

No, he'd never have the stamina or ability to ignore pain that his partner had. And he didn't want to. That was a military man, not Danny. And while he appreciated very much that there were things Steve could do physically that he couldn't…and truly had no desire to because really, shimmying up a palm tree like you had claws on the insides of your thighs was _not_ something he aspired to…Danny also appreciated what _he_ was capable of.

He couldn't hold his breath for six minutes, but he could for four.

He couldn't necessarily reach something that was up high because he was vertically challenged. But it was easier for him to find cover in a hail of bullets. Usually.

He couldn't bench press a rhinoceros. Okay, he'd never seen Steve do that, but he had little doubt the man could. Be that as it may, Danny knew he was strong enough to take down a perp twice his size.

And he couldn't go and go and go for days on end without sleep like his partner could. But Danny could do a lot on little sleep, and run down a perp with the best of them.

He could follow McGarrett into a firefight with an eerie, focused calm that sometimes he surprised him_self_ with.

He could shoot straight and true and hit exactly what he meant to even with less than half a second to aim.

And he could put the pieces of any puzzle together and figure out the answer.

So what that Steve was over there lifting weights three times the heft of the ones Danny was using? So what that Danny hid what he was made of underneath button-down shirts and dress pants, while Steve stripped at the drop of a hat? So what that women threw themselves at Steve like he was a god come to Earth while Danny – who, yes, got hit on, make no mistake – was more likely to just get mild flirting rather than instantaneous 'sex me' eyes?

None of that mattered because Danny kept himself in good enough shape that he would always have his partner's back. He'd always be able to follow him into the fray. And he'd always be able to heal quickly from whatever might happen to him out in the field.

For a long, long time to come. And between that thought, and the one that said he wanted to make sure he was around to see his daughter become a grandmother, Danny pushed himself harder on the weights. On the treadmill. On the elliptical. On the machines.

Because if those weren't things to keep yourself fit for, he didn't know what was.

Besides, after seeing McGarrett take a pounding in the ring, Danny thought it might be fun to show his boss just exactly what _other_ talents he had and kick his ass in the process. He wondered if he still had his old fight gloves buried in a box somewhere…

* * *

><p><strong>Way 84<strong>

Let him express himself freely, without fear of being called stupid or illogical.

Piano Man.

That had been his nickname back on the Force in Jersey.

It had been over two years since he'd last tickled the ivories, though. He and Rachel had owned an antique upright piano and it was how Danny would unwind at the end of a day or a case.

He'd even started teaching Grace how to play.

But in Hawaii, there hadn't been money or time, really, to find a way to re-indulge.

Until now.

He'd stumbled across La Mariana Sailing Club two months prior while trying to find the location of a potential source of information. All he and Steve had been told, was that the elderly woman lived on Ke'ehi Lagoon somewhere on Sand Island Access Road.

Thanks to an unexpected invitation from the governor that Steve couldn't decline, Danny had found himself alone in his own car for a change, wandering all around what had appeared to be mostly light industrial complexes.

At last, he'd found the sailing club, and its owner – a spunky, 86-year old Brooklyn Italian – and he'd never been so glad for anything in all his life. They'd gotten to talking, after he'd discovered she really couldn't help him out on Five-0's case, and she'd offered to show him around her old-fashioned tiki bar.

The first thing that had caught his eye was the piano. She noticed. Annette was as sharp as a tack. "Go on ahead, play," she'd said, nodding toward the instrument. "I've lost my karaoke piano player, maybe you can fill in."

Danny had laughed because when the hell did he have time to sit and play a couple hours at a tiki bar, anyway?

But Annette had insisted, and so Danny had seated himself on the bench, cracked his knuckles, lifted the lid to reveal the beautiful ebony and ivory he hadn't quite realized he'd missed so much, and lightly placed his fingertips on the polished-smooth keys.

It turned out, playing the piano was very much like riding a bike. You never truly forgot how to do it, no matter how long it had been.

That afternoon he'd whiled away ninety minutes just moving from one song to another. No sheet music. No metronome. No requests. He'd gotten a standing ovation from the customers, a jar full of tips, and an insistence from Annette that he return any time he could. That when he did, the piano would be his for as long as he wanted to play her.

He'd never felt so good.

And so that was how it was, that Detective Danny Williams became a three or four night-a-week Piano Man at La Mariana. Nobody else knew about it, not even Grace. It was Danny's own thing. His private joy. He knew he'd started feeling calmer all the way around. That he'd toned down his lectures a notch. That he was sleeping better.

All because of a little old lady, her tiki bar and a piano.

And the feeling that came from making beautiful music with your fingers and a finely tuned instrument that, while he was playing it, he became one with.

Eventually, he'd told Rachel. One thing she'd always loved about Danny was his musical side. She and Grace came one night to listen to him. Afterwards, Rachel had gotten tears in her eyes at the fond memories Danny's playing brought back to them both, and Grace had immediately demanded piano lessons so she could learn to do what her Danno could do. Both parents had readily agreed.

It wasn't until a few nights later, however, that Danny's hobby and his professional career collided.

There was a reason he hadn't told any of his teammates about his piano-playing. In his mind, he could just _see_ Steve's reaction to it, and undoubtedly one of the cousins would mention it at some point if they knew. It wasn't macho, wasn't overly manly, it wasn't the type of hobby someone who enjoyed a variety of explosive devices would do. He could hear Steve mocking him, whether infused with fondness or not, and it was just something he wanted to avoid. Taking ribbing for being a _haole_ was one thing. Taking ribbing about his beloved music was something he simply refused to tolerate.

And so he'd stayed silent about this particular activity.

But on this one night, Danny had been so buried in the notes he was producing, so careful to properly transition between a classical piece of music to a more modern pop song, so lost in the harmony that seemed to sing from his very bones, that he hadn't noticed one of the tiki bar's new patrons.

When at last it was time for things to quiet down, Danny stood from the bench. He never took the tips, telling Annette to put them in a jar that would pay for the piano to be tuned every other week. So he didn't grab the oversized wine glass full of bills and coins when he stood, just turned and bowed a little at the applause for his efforts.

When he came upright from his final bow, he saw him.

Steve was seated at a table in the far corner with Annette. And his eyes were riveted to Danny as Annette spoke.

Frustrated at having even _this_ taken from him, this private thing of his that he enjoyed so much, Danny didn't even go over to speak to either of them. He just turned, walked out the front door and headed for his car.

"Danny! Danny, wait!"

Danny stiffened, his hand on the Camaro's remote to unlock it. Steve caught up to him but stayed a couple feet back.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you could play the piano like that?"

"Why?" Danny countered, still with his back to him. "So you could give me shit about it?"

"Give you—Danny, I'm not going to give you shit about it. I'm…impressed."

Well, that was unexpected. Danny turned to look at Steve, whose face mirrored the meaning of his words well enough. "You're impressed."

"Hell, yes. I was never good with instruments. I couldn't even keep time on a snare drum in junior high."

That made Danny laugh. The guy who could time an attack's precise movements down to the nanosecond couldn't keep a beat.

"Did you follow me here? How'd you know I was here?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "I was leaving the boatyard right over there," he explained, pointing to the large piece of properly caddy-corner to the La Mariana. "I'm working with the owner to design a boat."

"You're going to buy a boat?"

"Already have. Now we just have to build it," Steve grinned. "But seriously, I just was driving by and saw the Camaro, and…you really didn't want me to know, did you?"

Danny felt more than just a little stupid but shit, it'd been the one thing he had that didn't belong to anyone else. Now, not so much. He puffed out a breath and gave a half-hearted shrug. "No big deal."

"I would promise to stay away next time you're playing, but…" Steve's voice trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted from foot to foot. "My mom used to play."

"You don't have a piano in your house."

"Dad got rid of it after Mom died. I think it hurt him to look at it or something, I don't know."

Danny nodded. That made sense.

"She used to play a lot like you do and, uh…I guess I didn't realize how much I missed that until tonight."

Danny looked at Steve and saw nothing but complete honesty. The piano music was important to his partner because it brought back memories of his mother, and how could Danny argue with that? Still, he didn't want his partner following him to the tiki bar every single time he was going to play. He needed _some_ modicum of space to call his own, after all.

"You can come once a week, okay?" he offered.

Steve broke into a wide grin. "Okay, Danno. Once a week. No more."

Danny rolled his eyes. Damn SEAL had mommy issues as well as daddy issues.

But maybe Danny would be able to help with that, just by sharing his love of something he'd done since he was seven years old.

And if, six months later, it turned out Steve, Chin, Kono, their respective dates, Grace and sometimes even Kamekona were there for every single one of Danny's three nights a week, well…it just so happened that Danny didn't mind one bit.

Especially not after Dr. Asano started joining them, as well.


	43. Ways 85 and 86

_Author's Note: Minor spoilers for various Season 2 episodes involving Dr. Gabby Asano and Lt. Catherine Rollins and their respective men-folk._

**Way 85**

Carefully choose your words. Remember to "speak the truth in LOVE."

Danny couldn't remember having been that tongue-tied in front of _anyone_ since…well, since Rachel, actually.

Which proved to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had a definite crush on Gabby.

Which would be okay if the moments of sheer stupidity and feeling like his tongue was five sizes too big for his mouth didn't constantly happen in front of his partner, Smooth Dog.

Who kept shooting him knowing looks.

Well, duh. Danny wasn't exactly subtle in _any_thing, let alone in this.

God, he felt like an idiot.

"So you're going to see her again, I presume."

Of course Steve wanted to talk about it. Never when it was his _own_ personal stuff, oh, no. But when it was _Danny__'__s_ life, then, by all means.

"Yes, I'm going to see her again. Do you want to come along? Bored with your pretty lieutenant shipped off to desert arenas?"

Oops.

The look on Steve's face told Danny that was _precisely_ the wrong thing to say. Thing was, he didn't know _why_.

Steve's jaw clicked. "No need," he said stiffly.

Danny swallowed, all mirth gone. "What happened?" he asked. All Steve had told him, and told him so quickly he'd almost missed the words altogether, was that Cath had had to ship out unexpectedly. Danny had gathered there'd not even been time for dinner, let alone any other activities, but McGarrett had moved on to other subjects and Danny hadn't given it much more thought than that.

Until now.

"I already told you, she's gone for at least three or four months, if not more."

"After you saw her for all of what, ten or fifteen minutes when she was here?"

Steve's jaw worked. His Adam's apple bobbed. Danny's face fell. Looked like he wasn't the only one in the Camaro with feelings for a woman.

"I'm sorry, man," Danny finally said.

"Yeah." Steve's voice was gruff.

"Gabby's going to give Grace and me the museum tour this Saturday." Danny looked across the car. "I think you'd like it."

"That's you-time, Danny, I don't belong there."

Danny let himself smirk. This he could handle. "You belong anywhere but by yourself. Swear to God, if I leave you alone for two or three hours, you'll have Lana'i and Molokai in ruins with Oahu next on the list."

Danny saw Steve's lips twitch and couldn't help the puffed-out laugh he gave in response.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an ass?" Steve asked, but his voice was much less tight now.

"Once or twice," Danny nodded. "Just don't tell Gabby, huh?"

"Your secret's safe with me, Danno."

Danny looked up the same time as his partner. Their eyes locked. Danny smiled. Big, bad SEAL-boy that in love was something he'd never even considered, thinking (incorrectly, obviously) that Catherine was nothing more than a friends-with-benefits situation. But even though he now had this new epiphany front and center, guys didn't wax poetic about shit like that, so Danny just said, "Ditto, my friend."

At least it made Steve smile.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Spoilers for Season 1 finale, Season 2 Opener and Season 2, Episode 7 "Ka Iwi Kapu."<em>

**Way 86**

Don't criticize him in front of others—keeping his dignity intact.

Steve just didn't know what to do anymore. Danny had changed so much in the last few months and this, this case with its supernatural elements, spirits of ancestors, Hawaiian traditions, burial grounds, well…it had brought out a side to Danny he never could've fathomed existed.

First, to find out he'd been sleeping with his ex-wife…who was someone _else__'__s_ wife at the time, still, regardless of the fact she was the mother of Danny's child already…had thrown Steve for a major loop. By-the-book Danny sleeping with a married woman? It had, truth be told, rocked Steve's world almost as much as Hesse helping him escape from prison had.

It just seemed so damn out-of-character for the Danny Williams Steve knew.

After everything had fallen apart for the second time with Rachel, though, with Danny having found out the baby she was carrying wasn't his after all, Steve had seen something inside his partner shift massively, like tectonic plates had moved in the very core of his being and left him so different that sometimes he was almost unrecognizable.

There were times when they would still get up to their old banter. Times when it _almost_ felt the same between them. But those times nowadays were so few and far between that Steve felt their absence not unlike the gnawing, hollow ache in his gut that was named Catherine after she had to so abruptly leave.

But what had really and truly made Steve wonder if his Danny had been replaced by someone completely different…a clone, maybe…or if he'd been possessed by a demon or ghost…or if maybe some pissed-off Hawaiian had placed a _real_ curse on him…was Danny's behavior at and about the burial grounds.

No, Danny wasn't generally reverent about anything. He'd complain long and loud about such Hawaiian staples as ham and pineapple on pizza, the penchant for wearing not much clothing or dressing casually for work. Island time. Constant rainbows. Unexpected downpours. Roads that weren't roads because they were made of dirt and skirted the edges of cliffs.

But there was a difference between thinking Hawaiians did things weirdly and outright disrespecting their centuries-old beliefs to their _faces_, no less. He could understand frustration over not being able to immediately inspect a crime scene, but he also knew that even if he didn't necessarily believe _everything_ the Hawaiians believed, it wasn't something he would trifle with. Any more than he'd make fun of Catholics kneeling in front of statues of deities or saints. Any more than he'd make fun of a man in the Jewish faith for wearing a _kippah_. Any more than he'd make fun of, or disrespect, _any_ peoples' beliefs.

And once upon a time, he'd believed that of Danny, too. He had morals. Scruples. He may have been obnoxious at times, but that was just his Jersey leaking out of every pore. He had a _daughter_, for Christ's sake, and had paraded her around a seedy hotel to go trick-or-treating? The man who wouldn't even talk about Step-Stan's country club tennis lessons without covering Grace's ears?

And Danny had acted like a complete jerk at the new apartment he was _supposed_ to have started renting. The entire team had showed up to help without question, even _Lori_ had joined in to help, and Danny had barked at them like they were hired hands. Putting one over on that building's owner just to get her to lower the rent, claiming to Steve it was fine because every detective in New Jersey did it? Danny being a _scumbag?_ S_eriously_? Fraudulent? _Lying_? What _even_? And then, on top of it all, he had rudely ordered them to move everything back out because he'd found out that he'd talked to a ghost. Which, well, like Steve has said before, he doesn't disrespect other peoples' beliefs, so whatever, on that front. But still, he just…

Steve took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

He'd never say anything in front of the others, because you just didn't do that to someone you cared about. You didn't put their issues out in the open, or question their behavior with witnesses. But the fact was that Danny just wasn't Danny anymore, not really. And while he still performed his function on the team perfectly fine in spite of everything else…and while Dr. Asano seemed to think he was all right enough from what he could see...Steve felt something was deeply off.

Thing of it was, he had no fucking _clue_ what to do about it.

Maybe they would just have to talk. Or, in Danny's case, yell. Because Steve got the idea if he so much as tried to ask Danny whether he'd been replaced by a pod-person or something, Danny would hit him. More than once.

But what else could Steve do?

This wasn't his Danny and he was man enough to admit that it hurt.

He wanted the _real_ Danny back.

He had an idea that a lot of other people did, too.


	44. Ways 87 and 88

**Way 87**

Visit his childhood home with him.

They were both getting up there now, pushing eighty-four. Still pretty fit for a couple old guys, but long since retired.

Both married, both with children. Grace a grandmother. Danny and Gabby's two children together both with eight kids between them of their own, great-grandparents several times over. Steve and Catherine's son off following his father's and mother's footsteps in the Navy. Far too much like Steve sometimes.

Both Gabby and Cath were still around, but now and then the former partners would get back together without the women to shoot the shit, talk about the old days. Laugh about the rants that Danny had once thrown at McGarrett like fastballs. Chuckle about the way Steve used to be able to leap tall shipping containers in a single bound. Marvel over the fact that either of them had made it to this ripe old age. Chat about the antics of Chin and Kono, whom they saw regularly, together with their own additions to the Kelly and Kalakaua clans.

They might all be old, but they were still _ohana_.

This trip had been one neither Steve or Danny had planned on making. Somehow the car had steered itself to the once-familiar land. The McGarrett home had burned to the ground only five years after Steve had gotten out of prison for Jameson's murder, and while Steve and Mary Ann still owned the property, both had agreed to never rebuild there.

At least, not to rebuild a house.

They'd cleared the lot and squabbled for years over what exactly to do with it. Finally, they'd agreed to build a huge place for former veterans to live. Veteran Hawaiians of all military branches who would otherwise be homeless or stuck on long-term care facilities that were sometimes as cold as they were understaffed, had a safe and loving place to live out their years.

And so now, as the men stood in the paved parking lot and looked at the building that bore no resemblance to the once beautiful home that Nick Taylor and his cronies had shot all to hell, they quietly remembered it for what it had been, and for what it had ceased to be when Steve's mother had been murdered.

Wo Fat was long dead now, thanks to a sniper shot by Kono a decade after he'd almost succeeded in tearing Five-0 to pieces. Five-0 still lived on with its new leader, new team members, and the partners would sometimes hit up Headquarters just to see all the changes the years had brought, both in technology and in people.

Nothing stayed the same, the men knew, as they wandered around the building to the beach that had once been Steve's back yard…nothing except this.

Down near the water's edge were two very worn white beach chairs. They had been the only things to survive that fire so many years ago, and Steve's only insistence to those running the Veterans' Home had been that these chairs would remain right where they were until he and Danny were both gone.

So they could share moments like this.

They eased themselves into their respective seats. Steve uncapped the two Longboards he'd carried from the car and handed one to Danny. Quietly they watched the sun dip lower in the sky, sipping at their beers and remembering their lives both separately and together.

Gabby and Catherine would be along soon. They both swore they couldn't leave their "boys" alone for any length of time even as old as they were. It made the men chuckle, but they knew their wives were probably right on the money.

At least, Danny insisted they were right about Steve.

But until then, it was just the two of them, like it had been so many times before. Steve's childhood home wasn't there anymore, but the partners _were_. Danny reached out across the ten inches that separated the two chairs, tipping his beer bottle in McGarrett's direction.

Steve reached out and clinked the top of his bottle against Danny's.

Overall, life had turned out pretty well for both of them.

And as the first pinks and purples began to appear in the sky over the sparkling Pacific, both knew they didn't need to say a word.

Because they were here. Together. After all this time.

And that said it all.

**Way 88**

When you're angry, express it in respectful ways. Don't give the silent treatment.

(Because my daughter says I should write it down rather than yell at 'Uncle Steve.' Apparently NOT yelling at 'Uncle Steve' is healthier for me, like eating salad instead of malasadas, which brings me to the first thing on my list…)

**Top 10 Things That Are Steve McGarrett's Fault**

-By Danny Williams

-And this is only one day's worth.

10. My blood pressure.

9. The fact that I skirt the law more than I uphold it these days.

8. My insurance premiums are through the roof. Of the car I never get to drive.

7. I'm slowly becoming used to 'crazy.'

6. I no longer have any concept of 'personal space.' Or at least, not when six-foot SEALs enter it.

5. Kono being way too happy with a sniper rifle. And explosives. And tackling suspects. Jesus Christ, she's turning into a female McGarrett. God help us all.

4. My knee. The surgery I had to have on it. The fact that everyone thinks we're sleeping together now because he told the whole world I wrecked it getting out of bed. Asshole.

3. Mountains of paperwork. That I have to do. Because he fucks it up every time he tries. And I have to do it all over again anyway.

2. The fact that I now refer to my own apartment as 'shitty.'

1. I don't hate Hawaii anymore. I intensely dislike it. Damn him. It's all his fault.

* * *

><p>He walks in.<p>

He looks at Danny.

Danny looks right back at him.

"Okay, let me have it," he says. He's expecting a one-hour lecture, at least. Maybe two, from the look on Danny's face.

Danny shakes his head and holds out the piece of paper he's been writing on.

Steve frowns, takes it. Reads it.

The frown deepens.

It turns into a scowl.

And then, magically, all the lines disappear.

And the frown turns into a smile.

He obviously reached Number One.

A grin. "Dinner's on me," he says, clapping Danny on the back.

That works. Danny's just a man, after all. Easiest way to his heart and all that.

Hey. Maybe Gracie's right after all.

Then again, maybe he's just hungry because McGarrett mentioned dinner.

Yet another thing that's all his fault.


	45. Ways 89 and 90

_Author's Note: Contains heavy spoilers for Season 2, Episode 7 "Ka Iwi Kapu," and a smattering of spoilers for everything from the finale of Season 1 through all of Season 2 so far._

**Way 89**

Pray for him.

Steve had believed. To a point.

He'd believed that what was sacred to the people of Hawaii was meant to be respected, whether or not he personally shared their beliefs.

Spirits of ancestors. Sacred burial grounds. Curses.

Growing up in Hawaii, he'd never personally seen evidence of any of these, but he'd learned about the culture and tradition in school. Upon his return for his father's funeral, he'd still respected the beliefs even though some of his knowledge had been lost over the years.

But this? This was beyond his ken. He was at his wits' end. The doctors couldn't find anything wrong with Danny. Specialists, experts in internal medicine. The best neurosurgeons. There didn't seem to be one single solitary thing wrong with his partner.

And yet here Danny was, unconscious and unresponsive to external stimuli.

He was breathing fine. His heart was beating fine. His brain scans were normal. His blood work was normal – and they'd run every test under the sun, taking way more blood than Steve thought Danny could spare.

And yet he was still. So still that only the rise and fall of his chest convinced anyone he wasn't actually dead upon first glance.

The white sheet and slate blue blanket kept his body warm. The thin hospital gown had been changed twice in the two weeks since Steve had raced to the Emergency Room with his unmoving best friend.

He sat back in the chair as he awaited the last, best hope that he had. And the memory crowded to the front of his mind unbidden, unwanted, but unable to be quashed.

_Steve stumbled down the steps. In spite of usually being up at what Danny liked to call the ass-crack of dawn, for some reason he'd been uneasy all night, tossing and turning and waking up every hour on the hour. Eventually he'd fall back asleep again, only to be up fifteen or twenty minutes later._

_Once he'd come downstairs and gone out back on the lanai, hoping the night air and salt-smell would relax him. It had, but once he'd gone back to bed, same thing. Another time he'd tiptoed into the living room to check on his partner, who was temporarily using his couch as a bed while he searched for a new apartment. Danny had been breathing deeply, evenly. Steve had just assumed he'd been sound asleep._

If _only_! If only he'd known Danny wasn't asleep, but in some sort of inexplicable coma! If he'd known sooner, he could've taken him to the ER in the middle of the night instead of not finding out until after nine in the morning that something was wrong!

Steve would never forgive himself. Never.

He should have _known_. Known that it was why he couldn't sleep, this…whatever it was that was wrong with Danny. Grace and Rachel had been here several times over the past two weeks.

_Shaking Danny with a chuckle to wake him up. After all, just because it's Saturday, he laughed, doesn't mean you have to sleep the day away._

Chin and Kono had been a constant presence, leaving only to sleep or eat or go get food to bring back to Steve as he stood vigil over his partner.

_Frowning when Danny didn't stir. When he didn't crack one eye open and launch into a sleepy morning rant about stupid SEALs and their inhuman lack of understanding the requirement to sleep in on weekends._

Lori, Max and Kamekona had stopped in a few times, and even the governor had made an appearance. The governor who, upon seeing the determination in McGarrett's jaw and stance, had ordered him to take medical leave because he looked worse than he had after getting shanked by Hesse.

Chin, Kono and Lori were minding the store. There weren't any cases too difficult for just the three of them to handle.

_Trying to get him to wake up by pinching his arm. His leg. Resorting to splashing water in his face. Slapping his cheek with the palm of his hand. Nothing was working. Nothing was waking him up._

Steve was bone-tired. He felt hopeless. Helpless. At a loss for what to do. The doctors felt the same, he could see it in their eyes. And so he'd spoken quietly to Chin, who'd nodded solemnly and said he would see what he could do.

_Danny __wouldn__'__t __wake __up. __Steve __hadn__'__t __felt __such __fear __since __the __moment __he __realized __on __the __phone __that __Hesse __was __going __to __kill __his __father. __It __welled __up __in __him __again __as __he __lifted __Danny __off __the __couch __like __he __weighed __no __more __than __Grace. __As __he __raced __out __to __the __pickup __and __secured __Danny __in __the __passenger __seat. __As __he __made __it __to __Queens __Medical __Center __in __record __time __and __begged __them__…_begged _them__…__to __tell __him __what __was __wrong._

He was still waiting for that to happen.

There was a noise, and he looked up. Then he rose to his feet and nodded at the newcomer. The man was in his sixties and looked to be native to the islands. His hair was already nearly white, and his brown eyes were piercing and bright. He was a priest, dressed in nothing but a hand-painted traditional brown and pale yellow sarong that covered him waist to knees. His arms were adorned with what Steve knew were real tattoos, not painted-on for the occasion. Ceremonial paints in various patterns on his face and chest completed the look.

"I understand your friend may have been cursed for desecrating sacred burial grounds," he said without preamble, looking Steve straight in the eyes.

"I," Steve started, then had to swallow the lump in his throat. He coughed lightly and started again. "I don't know what else to think, _Kahuna __Lapa__'__au_. The doctors say there's nothing wrong with him."

"If Detective Williams broke _kapu_, McGarrett, he will need to atone for his transgression before the spirits of those whose resting place he disturbed."

Steve felt despair start to creep in. "But he's unconscious, how can he?"

"We will return to the place where he was unwise in his actions," the priest declared. "There, we will pray over him to the ancestors and the gods, and they will decide his fate."

Steve stared at the priest in disbelief. They had to take Danny back there in his condition, pray, and hope to hell some spirits Steve himself wasn't even sure he believed in would work some magic to bring Danny back?

"I see you have doubts, McGarrett."

Steve swallowed hard. He looked at Danny's unmoving form. "I'll try anything. His daughter…" Steve's voice trailed off as he remembered the huge tears that had filled Gracie's eyes as he'd held her, Rachel crying silently next to where Steve knelt on the floor with the little girl. She'd _pleaded_ with him to bring her Danno back and it had been all he could do not to break down with her.

Even now, he felt the telltale sting at the back of his eyes. "I'll do anything, _Kahuna_."

"You must believe, son of John." Steve's head snapped in the priest's direction, eyes wide. "Yes, I knew your father. I prayed with him once to release the spirit of your mother after you were sent away."

"I didn't know my dad believed in that," Steve whispered.

"He wasn't certain he did," the priest admitted. "But he was, like you, willing to try anything to ensure she was at peace after so many nightmares told him that she was not."

Steve nodded, looked back down at Danny and then shook his head. If his father had believed enough to bring this man in to pray for his mother's spirit, Steve could believe enough to bring his partner back to the little girl who needed him so desperately.

Back to them _all_.

Steve squared his jaw and felt his muscles tense. "Let's do it," he said, then took a deep breath and looked at the priest.

The man smiled and nodded. "Will they let you remove him from the hospital?"

"I'm the head of Five-0," Steve replied, looking toward the door. "They don't have a choice."

* * *

><p>Steve carefully arranged Danny along the low stone wall surrounding the burial grounds. He folded Danny's warm and uncharacteristically still hands over his sternum. He'd had to dress Danny in a white sarong from waist to ankles, and watched as the priest painted symbols Steve didn't recognize onto Danny's biceps.<p>

"You will kneel with me and lay your hands on him," the priest instructed.

Steve nodded, kneeling even with his chest, while the priest knelt even with Danny's waist. Watching as the priest's hands rested palm-flat on a thigh and a hip, Steve followed suit by laying his right hand just along Danny's ribs and the other, when the priest nodded, on Danny's forehead.

"Close your eyes, and repeat the Lord's Prayer in both Hawaiian and English with me. Since Detective Williams does not speak the language, he needs to hear what he can understand."

Steve frowned. The Lord's Prayer? To deal with ancient spirits and curses?

The priest smiled. "There are gods and spirits, but there is also God," he explained. "And if your friend is truly cursed, he will need all the help we can ask for."

Steve nodded and murmured silently in conjunction with the priest's words. He didn't think he'd remember the whole thing, but he did. And as he spoke each word in Hawaiian, and followed it with the English translation, he could have sworn he felt something.

His eyes had been closed, but when his hands began to tingle, he looked up, still quietly speaking the words with the priest.

As long as he lived, he would never forget the ten transparent Hawaiians standing in a semicircle facing him, the priest and Danny. He tried to catch his breath, but found he couldn't. He tried to swallow, but had no saliva to wet his throat. He tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't come.

"_He __has __broken __the __laws __of __this __place,__"_ an elderly man proclaimed, with a voice that sounded much stronger than it should coming from what could only be described as a ghost.

Steve nodded. He glanced at the priest, but the man either didn't notice or hear, or was choosing to ignore it altogether. He looked back at the spirits gathered before them.

"_Why __should __we __remove __this __sleeping __death __from __him?__"_ the elderly one asked again, pointing an accusing finger.

"He—he didn't mean it," Steve said, but even he didn't know if that was true. "He's…having a hard time…" Steve's voice trailed off. Truly he hadn't understood Danny's recent behavior at all, but now it seemed to come to him like he'd always known something was wrong but hadn't been able to access the information.

"_That is no excuse for so blatantly ignoring what you and the others tried to tell him."_

"No," Steve shook his head sadly, fingers pressing into Danny's ribs and forehead as he squeezed his eyes closed. "But other than my sister, he's…please." He looked back up at them, his eyes wet. "He has a daughter. She needs him. She needs her father. He came to Hawaii for her."

The ghosts seemed unmoved, only glaring at Danny.

Suddenly thoughts just started tumbling out of his mouth like they were on a direct feed from his brain. He couldn't fathom where they were coming from or even begin to control them, let alone force them to make sense. "He's a good man. He's a good cop. He's dedicated his life to serving others and he loves his daughter Grace more than you can possibly imagine. His life is falling apart. He thought he was getting his family back, that he was having another baby, he thought—and then he didn't get any of that and…and now he's lost his place to live, and I got arrested when—he thought he was going back to where he came from, back to his home."

An older-looking woman took a few steps toward them. The priest still murmured, only now in a Hawaiian prayer Steve didn't recognize. Still, he seemed not to notice anything amiss.

"This _is __his __home!__"_ the woman ghost spat. _"__He __will __not __leave __this __place __until __his __death, __but __he __fights __it __still __so __completely __that __he __has __offended __us __all, __offended __the __gods __and __the __God __of __all __gods!__"_

"He's hurt and he's lashing out. He's even lashing out at me lately," Steve admitted, bowing his head over his partner. He then looked up and met the faded eyes of the female ghost. "If you're going to blame him for his behavior that night, then you have to blame me, too."

"_You __speak __nonsense,__"_ the woman – clearly in charge of the gathered spirits – replied.

"No, I speak the truth," Steve ground out. "If I'd been paying more attention to him, to what I _knew_ he was going through…if I'd just stopped and _made_ him talk to me, let him get it out of his system…don't you see?" he asked, rising to his feet, hands splayed out either side of himself as he looked each ghost in the eye. "If I had been there for him like friends, like _partners_, are supposed to be, instead of consumed by my own need for vengeance, he would _never_ have desecrated this sacred place!"

Steve looked down at Danny, eyes flicking to the still-praying priest and then to the ghosts. They were huddled together and he could hear them whispering in Hawaiian, but couldn't catch a single word of it.

"Dammit," Steve breathed, chest heaving as he tried to control himself. He felt a tear spill out of his eye and angrily wiped it away with the back of his hand. "This is _my_ fault, Danny. I wasn't _there_ for you." He sank to his knees and laid his hands on his partner again. "I'm _sorry_ I didn't try harder to make you understand. That I didn't try _harder_ to make you talk to me about what was happening to you. I let going after Wo Fat—"

Suddenly Steve felt a hand on the top of his head. He looked up to find it belonged to the old woman ghost.

"_You __must __not __take __the __sins __of __others __upon __yourself,__"_ she proclaimed, and when Steve opened his mouth to protest, she held up her other hand to silence him. He clamped his mouth shut again. _"__However, __your __points __are __well-taken __and __you __are __a __Son __of __Hawaii __in __all __but __the __blood __that __flows __through __your __veins.__"_

"Yes," Steve nodded, her hand surprisingly heavy and warm on his head. "I am."

"_You must make him see, Son of John, and you must be the one he can rely on to teach him the ways so that he respects this place and calls it Home."_

"I will," Steve vowed, not caring that a few more tears were escaping. "I'll do anything. Please don't take him away from Grace. _Please_."

Her hand moved down, index finger curling under his chin as she looked deeply into his eyes. _"__Or, __I __think, __away __from _you_, __McGarrett.__"_

"From all of us," Steve whispered. "He's our _ohana_."

She nodded, released her hold on him and backed away. _"__Now __wake __him,__"_ she instructed. _"__And __do __not __delay __in __what __you __must __do.__"_

Steve looked at Danny, his hands still resting on his ribs and forehead. He leaned down, placing his mouth right next to Danny's ear, and whispered, "Danno, wake up for me. Come on. Grace is waiting for you. Wake up, Danno."

The priest grew silent, but Steve barely even registered the change. He fisted his right hand over Danny's bare ribs, and let his left hand move up to Danny's hair, clutching it tightly. This had to work. It _had_ to!

"Danny, wake _up_!" he whispered fiercely, then closed his eyes and leaned back, removing his hands and wiping clammy palms against the fabric of his cargo pants. The ghosts were gone. He closed his eyes. _Please __please __please __please_, he kept repeating inside his mind.

When he opened his eyes again, he found two bright, sparkling blue ones staring at him. "Danny?" he whispered, moving forward and clutching Danny's arm in both his hands, smearing the paint on his bicep.

Danny swallowed once. Twice. He opened his mouth and croaked, then closed it and swallowed again, eyes never leaving Steve's.

"Danny, come on, man, say something." Steve squeezed his friend's arm harder.

"I dreamed," Danny rasped, "there were ghosts." He turned his head to look at the now-empty burial site where once the spirits had stood.

"It wasn't a dream," Steve replied softly.

Danny turned his head back to look at him, an open, vulnerable and maybe even a little frightened, expression on his face as their eyes locked. "I know," he whispered.

And when Steve turned toward the priest, it was to find nothing there but empty air. He stood, taking Danny's hands and pulling him to his feet, looking all around for any sign of the man. But there was none.

"Steve?"

"He's gone."

"Who?"

"The priest."

Danny frowned and looked around. "What happened?"

Steve stood squarely in front of his partner, put his hands on his two bare shoulders and squeezed lightly. He looked directly into his eyes and took a deep breath. "We need to talk," he said on the exhale.

"Yeah," Danny nodded, bringing a hand up to swipe down his face. He nodded, looked away, shifted uncomfortably, and then brought his eyes back to Steve's. "Yeah, okay."

Steve smiled a little and led Danny back to his truck. Later, Chin would tell him he'd never found a priest who would do what they wanted to have one do. That whomever it was Steve had talked to…prayed with…who'd led him to discovering that some things were more important than revenge…had not been sent by Chin Ho Kelly.

As Steve backed the truck away and pointed it in the direction of home, he didn't see the ghostly figure appear in the middle of the burial site. The brown and pale yellow sarong. The tattooed arms. The painted face and chest.

He didn't see the spirit of the _Kahuna __Lapa__'__au_ smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Way 90<strong>

Make him homemade soup when he's sick.

"Since when can you cook?"

"I can…look, this is not going to become another one of those 'you can't swim,' 'I can swim, I just choose not to' discussions, all right?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

"So what'd you make – _achoo!_ – me?"

"Cover your nose when you sneeze, Steven, what the hell's the matter with you? What? What is that look?"

"I've never been sick before."

"Are you _shitting_ me?"

"Not shitting you."

"Never? Not even as a kid?"

"This is Hawaii, not New Jersey."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything? I'll bet you my entire next paycheck you've got way more bacteria and viruses thriving in your tropical _paradise_ just because it's as warm as a human body is ninety percent of the year, so do _not_ even tell me only people in New Jersey get sick."

"_AH-CHOO!_"

"You are a menace. Now drink the soup."

"Do I have to?"

"Oh, my _God_, you are worse than Gracie when she gets a cold."

"That what I have?"

"Yes, Steven, you have a cold. A virus. Proving once and for all that you are _not_, in fact, a robot or a super-human superhero or whatever the hell it is you think you are."

"Don't think I'm a superhero."

"Stop pouting and drink the damn soup. My mother's recipe and it'll kick the ass of whatever's in your system."

"Soup doesn't have – _HAH-choo_ – anything in it that would logically kill a virus, Danny."

"How are you even verbal right now? You can't even get _sick_ normally, can you? Drink the soup or I swear to _God_ I will hogtie you and force it down your throat."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Do _not_ tempt me. Drink."

"Danno…"

"Drink, I will hold a gun to your head."

"Fine, _Christ_!"

"There you go. That's it. The whole mug. Okay, now you've got a face I've never seen before."

"Appreciation Face."

"Now you're naming your own faces?"

"Well, at least I can come up with something better than Aneurism Face."

"That is an accurate description of that particular face. So you like the soup?"

"It's…actually – _ahh__…__AHHHH-CHOOOO!_"

"That good, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now drink this bottle of water, take the NyQuil, and call me in the morning."

"You're leaving?"

"What? Well, after I do the dishes and stuff, yeah. I have Grace tomorrow. I am _not_ carrying a virus to my daughter's body, McGarrett, so yes, I am leaving."

"Oh."

"Are you pouting again?"

"No."

"Take the pills. You'll sleep, you won't even know I'm gone."

"Whatever."

"Don't 'whatever' me. I know what's with that particular face, my friend."

"You do, huh."

"Yes, I do. That is the I'm-A-Big-Bad-SEAL-And-Can-Handle-Anything-But-The-Common-Cold-So-Don't-Leave-Me-Alone-Because-I'm-Goddamn-Helpless-Right-Now-But-Will-Never-Admit-It Face."

"How did you even say that in one breath?"

"That's the face, though, right?"

"No."

"All right, look. I'll stay until you fall asleep, and then I'm going home—_home_—to pack a bag and then I will come back and babysit your ass all night, and be so damn tired tomorrow my daughter will think I went on an all-night bender."

"She knows what a bender is?"

"She's a cop's kid, what do you think?"

"'M sorry, Danno."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Take the NyQuil, pleasant dreams, Princess, and do _not_ puke because I will not clean it up."

"Yeah, okay."

"You're smiling."

"No, I'm not."

"There is something seriously fucked up about your brain, you know that?"

"Mmhmm."

"I do not even know why I put up with you. I'm going to do the dishes now. _Sleep_."

"Yessir, Danno, sir."

"Menace. You are a _menace_ to my sanity."

"You love me and you know it."

"Pffft."

"'Night, Danno."

"Good night, you…well, what do you know, he's asleep. Mom's soup always does the trick. All right, off to the kitchen for cleanup."

…

…

…

"_BLlurrrreegghhhhhcckckkkk!__"_

"He just threw up. The bastard just…I hate him. I hate him _so_ much."


	46. Ways 91 and 92

_Author's Note: Way 91 is a snapshot of Steve during Season 1 Episode 8 "Mana'o," so there are spoilers._

**Way 91**

Look your best—dress to honor him and make him proud to be seen with you.

He would have to leave within the next five minutes to circle around and pick up first Chin, and then Kono, if they wanted to make it to the wake in time.

He studied himself critically in the full-length mirror in the corner of Mary Ann's room. His sister was the only one who'd ever had a mirror where you could see all of yourself, and it was the one Steve always used to ensure he looked impeccable.

But only when he wore this...his service dress blues.

He smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt, both sides of the tie. Then ran a hand down the tie, flattening it. His eyes followed every movement, critically studying the lay of the fabric, the crisp, starched linen. His eyes moved down to note his black shoes, shined just an hour earlier until they gleamed.

He hadn't started out intending to wear the uniform. In fact, he wasn't even sure he'd be all that welcome at the Hanamoa house, either by Amy or by Danny. Though he thought he'd redeemed himself in Danny's eyes, who knew what he'd told Amy? Whether there'd be any hard feelings over Steve's earlier unwillingness to let the fact that Meka might be 'bad' drop?

But then he just knew. He _knew_ he owed it to the memory of a murdered police officer. He owed it to Danny.

He picked his jacket up from where it had been neatly laid atop Mary Ann's childhood bed and slid it on, pulling the sleeves down, eyeing the yellow stripes and the stars at the ends of them. He buttoned the jacket and his fingertips ghosted the honors hanging to the left of lapel.

He adjusted the shirt collar and smoothed the jacket, then leaned forward and picked up his white hat with its gold Navy emblem on the front, its shiny black visor and yellow stripe. He studied the hat carefully, noting no marks, smudges, imperfections.

Turning back so he could see himself in the mirror again, he carefully placed the hat on his head and pulled it down until he almost couldn't see his own eyes. Something always happened when he put on that finishing touch, and he found his body straightening, muscles clenching, feet placing themselves just-so, arms falling straight down to his sides.

When he wore this uniform, there was pride…there was honor…there was duty. There was the man who had been at the top of everything since Annapolis, who had made it as a SEAL on his first try. The man who'd excelled at his chosen career, who had become something new and different over the past couple of months. Rather than camos and face paint, these days were more about cargo pants and polo shirts. White V-necks and button-downs that never got buttoned. A badge that changed who he was when he wore it.

But right here, right now, when he wore the dress blues like this, he was everything he had ever wanted to be and felt the training and the years of service fit into his soul like missing puzzle pieces; like being a civilian never did.

He enjoyed his new job, he supposed, and getting to know his new team. He enjoyed being back in Hawaii. But most of all, he strangely found himself enjoying the push/pull, the constant tug-of-war that his new partner presented him with daily, and sometimes even hourly or by-the-minute.

He'd realized something in that conversation outside the prison. And the only way he thought he could convey to Danny the importance of that realization, the sheer profundity of knowing in your gut what made a man up at the very core of his being, was with this uniform.

He saluted his image, turned and double-timed it down the stairs, scooping his keys and wallet off the table near the front door as he exited.

Steve knew that most of HPD wasn't too keen on his role here now as head of Five-0, nor of the existence of the task force to begin with. He knew a lot of them were pissed off that a rookie got a place on this fancy new team before any veteran officers. That he'd welcomed Chin Ho with open arms in spite of the fact most people still thought he was dirty.

That he'd chosen a _haole_ as his partner.

But this was Steve's statement to them all. This was him saying yeah, I'm different. I do things a different way. But this is my team and _this_ is my partner, and both he and Meka deserve the very best I can give them.

Steve wondered what look Danny would have on his face when the three of them showed up, Steve looking so out-of-place, sticking out like a sore thumb at a cop gathering in his dress blues. What he wanted to see…what he _hoped_ to see…was pride.

He was proud to have a man like Danny as his partner. And he wanted Danny to be proud to be seen with a Navy SEAL by his side as _his_.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Way 92 is a pair of missing scenes that occur during Season 2 Episode 6 "Ka Hakaka Maika'i," so there are spoilers.<em>

**Way 92**

Support him when someone tries to put him down. Be his best cheer leader.

Steve had just stepped up to face what Danny was convinced would be the undoing of his partner. Never mind the shootouts they were always finding themselves in the middle of. Never mind the inordinate number of explosions. Never mind that he'd been facing Murder One or gotten shanked and then gone on the run.

No, it was going to be a stupid charity fight that killed Steve McGarrett.

Danny almost couldn't watch. And yet he couldn't tear his eyes away as the men started throwing punches. Like being unable to stop looking at train wreck, really.

"He won't last five minutes," a low, gravelly voice said from somewhere above Danny's head and to the right.

Danny frowned, turned his head and had to look up to find the source of the comment. _Way_ up. Christ, whoever this guy was, he was at _least_ a foot taller than Danny. _Jesus_.

"What are you talking about?" Danny asked, turning to look back at McGarrett just as he got clipped. Danny winced.

"Please," Gigantor – as Danny had started calling him – snorted, "he's not nearly bulky enough or strong enough to take _this_ guy out."

"Not…not _strong_ enough?" Danny repeated, forcing his head to an uncomfortable angle just so he could look the guy in the face. "Do you have any idea what that man does for a living?"

"Word is he's a cop," Gigantor shrugged, clearly unimpressed.

"No," Danny shook his head.

"No? So what is he, then, with the tats and shit? A biker?"

"A biker?" Danny repeated incredulously. "For crying out…no, he's a _SEAL_."

"A…what?"

"A man who can kill another man with his _thumbs_." And hey, for a guy who was all of five-foot-five, Danny felt he was wearing a menacing look rather well in the face of six-foot-too-many here.

"With his thumbs? He ain't using his thumbs. He's got to be able to use his _fists_ for this one."

Danny cocked his head at the guy. "Tell you what: when this is all over, what say I take you and him outside the building and you see just how good his fists are, huh? How about that?"

"Wouldn't waste my time," Gigantor said with a scowl. He looked down his nose at Danny, then turned and walked away.

"Son of a bitch," Danny breathed, a frown creasing his forehead. "What an asshole."

Danny looked up just in time for Steve to go down face-first right near him. He tried to get him to call the thing off, because he looked like about ten miles of bad road already, but Steve just got up and went back for more pummeling.

Danny shook his head. He was starting to wonder if his partner got _off_ on pain or something. And that was a thought he refused to take any further.

* * *

><p>"See? Told you he wouldn't beat that guy."<p>

Danny turned, eyes wide, as he recognized the voice. Sure enough, there was Gigantor standing just outside the locker room that Danny was about to walk into. "It was just a charity event," Danny retorted, knowing it sounded lame.

"Whatever, man. Later."

"No, you know what? Let me tell you something, buddy," Danny said, his ire rising. He stalked after the man with a finger jabbing into the air as he spoke. "He may not be an MMA fighter, he may not have all the supposed 'skills' you guys do, but you know what he _does_ have? A decade in the Navy jumping out of planes and diving into oceans and slinking through jungles all over the world, just to make sure that this country is _safe_ and _free_ for you and _your_ buddies to engage in this constant dick-measuring shit you all seem to love so much. So you can beat the crap out of each other for _fun_, while he and all those other guys who do what he does are out there risking their _lives_ so your goddamn precious cage doesn't get bombed by a fucking _terrorist_!"

Gigantor's eyes were wide, his jaw hanging open. Danny could only imagine what _he_ looked like, face all red like he knew it must be, eyes full of fury over the stupidity of someone who thinks he's better than any man in the service.

"So next time you want to go beating the shit out of somebody," he continued, "maybe you ought to look me up when I'm wearing my badge. We'll see how good you do against the gun I can whip out of my holster in less than two-tenths of a second. K?"

The guy nodded dumbly, holding his hands up in an _Easy, __easy_ gesture, backed away and disappeared around the corner.

Danny took a deep breath, let himself exhale slowly, and turned back toward the locker room door.

Well.

That would show Gigantor.

He snuffled and rubbed his nose with his hand, then reached out to open the door and see just how much damage Steve had taken.

Only person allowed to put Steve down was his _partner_, anyway.

Dammit.


	47. Ways 93 and 94

**Way 93**

Don't disagree with him in front of the children.

Kamekona wasn't entirely certain what was going on. All he knew for sure was that Danny and Steve, his _haole_ boys, as he thought of them, had left young Grace sitting at the table nearest the shrimp truck with a huge drink and a plate holding enough fried shrimp to feed Kamekona and two of his cousins.

Okay, maybe only one of his cousins.

He kept one eye on the little girl and the other on the two men, _both_ of whom were gesturing wildly about a dozen feet from Grace, and Kamekona had to smile and shake his head, because when had McGarrett started picking up Danny's hand gestures, anyway?

Whatever it was they were arguing about was a doozy. He'd seen them argue before. He'd been standing in _between_ them when they'd argued before. And being the gentle-hearted, good Hawaiian man that he was, he'd always diffused the situation with arms around their shoulders, silly words and even sillier facial expressions that always got them to just laugh and shake their heads at him.

Like he had that night with the waitress Sandrine. Oh, man, he'd been _sure_ the little _haole_ was going to turn the whole signing-the-cast thing into World War III and so he'd done something outrageous just to cut through the tension.

And it had worked, because his _haole_ boys had left together, walking with their arms brushing each other's, like the best friends he knew they really were, rather than storming off their separate ways and not speaking for a week.

Man, everyone was right. They _did_ fight like an old married couple.

Kamekona wondered if his friends had any idea how many fights he'd helped them avoid. Unfortunately this one, which now had Danny's face bright red, had started before they'd gotten to the beach, so Kamekona didn't even know what it was about.

"Kamekona?"

He looked down over the counter. "Yeah, _Keiki_, howzit?"

"Will you please get them to stop arguing?" Grace asked, pointing over to where the two men were standing with their arms folded over their chests, glaring at each other.

"It would help if I knew what they were fighting about," he replied, only partly because he was nosy.

"I'm not sure," Grace admitted with a small frown. "Danno made me keep my ear buds in the whole way here."

Kamekona frowned as he exited his shrimp truck and came to stand next to the little girl. He had no clue what was up with the boys, but he had an idea, and said to Grace, "You want to go for a shoulder ride, Gracie?"

"Yes!" she nodded, grinning, her pigtails bobbing.

"Okay, come here, then." Kamekona lifted her easily over his head and settled her on his shoulders. "Now, we're going to go see what these two guys are up to."

"Okay," she agreed as he wrapped his hands around her shins to keep her steady.

Danny and Steve looked up as they approached. They stopped talking. Danny's eyes moved up and up and up. Kamekona imagined Grace must be beaming at her father, because suddenly all the red disappeared from Danny's face, his eyes crinkled and he smiled broadly.

"Hey, Monkey, you suckered him into a ride, huh?"

"Yeah," Grace nodded. "I was going to ask Uncle Steve but you two wouldn't stop fighting long enough for me to."

Steve ducked his head. "Sorry," he mumbled. He shot a look at Danny.

Kamekona watched with great amusement as Danny shot a look back at him, then bumped Steve's arm with his elbow. Steve bumped him right back, then looked up at Grace.

"Sorry, Grace. Your dad and I shouldn't have been doing that in front of you."

"S'okay, _brah_," Kamekona interjected. "Since I've been hijacked as this little girl's pony, it just means you two _haoles_ are manning my shrimp truck for an hour so she gets a _proper_ ride."

"We—_what_?" Danny spluttered.

"Kamekona, I don't think—" Steve tried.

But the big man removed one of his hands from Grace's shin long enough to hold it up in the universal _STOP_ gesture. "No way. You two need to learn your manners in front of this little angel. So maybe this'll teach you."

Grace giggled as Kamekona took off his apron and tossed it to Steve, who caught it with an incredulous look on his face.

Danny gaped at them for a moment.

As Kamekona and his lightweight charge made their way toward the parking lot, he heard Steve ask, "Did he just ground us?"

"Yeah," Danny replied. "Only instead of sending us to our rooms, he sent us to his shrimp truck."

"I don't know how to cook shrimp."

"Of course you don't. You can probably skewer wild animals from the jungles of Borneo into something arguably palatable, but you can't cook shrimp."

"I never _had_ to!"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to cook a shrimp—do _not_ make any wisecracks about my height, I will take you out at the kneecaps!"

"Which you can reach…"

Kamekona shook his head as they moved out of earshot. He had a funny feeling there'd be a lot more chances for him to make the two cops guest chefs for a long, long time to come. He didn't mind. _Someone_ had to keep those two in check when Chin and Kono weren't around.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: OMG. Way 94 just kicked my ass. I think it wanted to become its own full-fledged story. Holy crap. Apologies for it being so long. I think it's the longest Way yet!<em>

**Way 94**

Take him for a weekend get-away without the children.

"You know, I'm all for weekend getaways, partner, but this isn't exactly what I'd call the most stellar one I've been on."

"Shut up," Steve says as eloquently as always.

Things aren't looking so good, Danny thinks. In fact, they're looking worse than bad, because ever since about one o'clock Friday afternoon, he and Steve have been…well, it's a little…okay, a _lot_…fucked up.

See, there was this arms dealer.

And then there was this cargo ship.

And it was sort of like a mish-mosh of several of their previous cases rolled into one.

There were Chinese gangsters with a few Samoan defectors thrown in for good measure.

There had been no time for backup (but Danny had called for it anyway).

He and Steve had gone in, guns blazing.

One big Samoan took Danny down – really, it's like going up against Kamekona and Danny's, well…he's compact.

He's making sure, however, that Steve feels equally inadequate for _also_ being taken down by a second sumo-wrestler-type because, you know, Mr. I'm-a-Bad-Ass-SEAL thinks he can handle anything but apparently, not so much the anythings that can kill you by sitting on you.

Because now, Danny's inside an empty shipping container on board that self-same freighter they'd boarded of their own free will and Steve, well, he's in another one. They don't have any idea how far apart they are physically, but Steve knows all kinds of stuff normal people don't (of course he does), and estimates that since the walkie-talkies that were left by their heads (when they were hog-tied and left on the dirty container floors unconscious) are working and they're reading each other loud and clear, they must be right next to each other.

Or maybe on top of and underneath each other. Steve can't be sure. "I don't have X-ray vision," he says.

So much for the Super SEAL superhero fantasy Gracie had made up.

Danny isn't quite sure how the walkie-talkies are working when neither man can press a 'Talk' button, but they've now been grunting back and forth for what Steve's supreme time-telling brain insists is the better part of twenty-four hours now. Which means, of course, that it's the weekend – Danny's weekend with _Grace_, as luck would have it – and between being hungry and thirsty, being frustrated that neither of them can get out of the chains…yes, _chains_…that are wound around them shoulders-to-ankles…and the fact that no man can go twenty-four hours without peeing, well…

…let's just say Danny's at the end of his rope.

Er…chain.

He hears Steve still grunting and groaning, trying to get himself out of the chains. He can well imagine Steve's bloody and raw by now from struggling so much. His own wrists are slick from trying, and for the first time he's actually starting to lose hope.

Maybe this'll be the time their team _doesn't_ run in and save the day at the last possible second.

Maybe this'll be the time the Honolulu PD doesn't just show up ten minutes late, but _days_ late.

Maybe this'll be the time the Coast Guard doesn't even know to look for them because nobody knows where they are.

Which is not _entirely_ true, because Danny had told HPD where they were as precisely as he could while running after McGarrett, drawing his weapon and trying like hell not to get a bullet to the brain in the process.

Suddenly everything goes quiet. Which means Steve isn't struggling anymore. The near-constant sounds of the clinking chains, the scrape of his clothing on the metal container floor, the grunts, the curses…it's been keeping Danny sane. Focused.

Now there's nothing.

The hairs on the back of Danny's neck stand on end. He swallows, but his mouth and throat are completely dry.

A quiet rasp of a voice comes through the small speaker.

"Danny."

So many sounds in that word that Danny's never heard from Steve before. Despair, maybe? A hundred words of apology for finally, _finally_ doing what Danny claimed his partner would do all along and get him killed? A thousand apologies for _not_ being superhuman enough to get them out of this with nothing more than the power of his thoughts? Something else, maybe?

"Hey," Danny says, and his own voice scratches his throat mercilessly, but…Steve can't be giving up. He _can__'__t_ be. It wasn't even remotely plausible.

"I'm sorry," is what Steve responds with.

Danny feels his gut clench. Feels his heart skip more beats than he knows is healthy.

"You've been right since Day One," is the next confession Steve makes.

Well, Danny isn't ready for last confessions, in spite of the feeling of hopelessness from just a few minutes earlier. Not from Steve. Not like this.

"Why do you think they left us the walkie-talkies?" he asks, by way of deflection.

"What? Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, yeah, I haven't gone deaf yet, but I wanna know why they left us the ability to communicate with each other," Danny says, sweat-damp shirt clinging everywhere, more sweat rolling into his eyes, down to his nose, dripping along the curve of his neck.

He hears Steve take a breath. Hears him exhale. "I don't know," he finally says.

"Know what I think?" Danny asks as he renews his efforts against the chains.

"What." It doesn't exactly come out as a question, but Danny'll take it.

"_I_ think," Danny says, grunting as the chain cuts further into his wrist and he thinks probably his wrist bone is now exposed to the air, "that either our Chinese friends are weirdly sentimental and want to make sure we can say our last good-byes as we roast inside these things on our way to God-knows-where or, and I admit this is probably the more likely of the two scenarios," and even _Danny_ doesn't know how it is he's still talking what with his throat feeling like coarse sandpaper, "or someone working with these bastards gave us our ticket out in a way nobody else would find out about."

Funny thing is, Danny isn't even aware he has a theory until he vocalizes it and he stops moving, stunned for a moment by what he's just said.

"You know, if you weren't a guy," comes Steve's voice, much stronger and more sure of itself now, "I would ask you to marry me right fucking _now_."

Danny barks out a laugh that makes his throat hurt and so he coughs and once he starts, he just can't stop.

"Danny? Danny!"

But Danny can't stop coughing, dammit. Not even for a few seconds to acknowledge the increasingly frantic pleas from his partner over the airwaves.

"Danny, listen, I have to take this thing apart and see what's inside."

Which means, of course, that they'll lose this tether to each other.

Finally Danny stops coughing, but now he's wheezing. Not enough oxygen's getting in here and what with the amount of carbon dioxide he just expelled in his coughing fit and the oppressive heat baking the metal container alive, he's finding it harder and harder to breathe.

"Danny, I don't want to lose contact with you."

He tries to huff a laugh out, but fails miserably. "S'okay, Steve," he manages to say. "Just get out."

There's a long moment of silence. Danny closes his eyes and tries to regulate his breathing, tries to slow his pulse. Tries not to think about the fact that he's about to lose his connection to anything outside this tomb.

"I'll find you," Steve vows and Danny lets himself smile just a little, because he knows Steve will.

Everything becomes fuzzy, then, like his body's just decided to shut down because it can't take the abuse anymore. Can't take the heat, the pain, the hunger, the thirst. But Danny manages to speak one more time before it all becomes unimportant. Before consciousness fades to black.

"I know you will," he whispers.

His body goes limp.

* * *

><p>Steve hears nothing. He stills his movements, which consist of rolling himself to his other side so his hands can actually get to the walkie-talkie, tied as they are to his ankles behind his back. He turns his head back toward the device.<p>

"Danny?"

Nothing.

He can't even hear _breathing_.

"Danny?"

Still no answer.

"_Danno!_"

Nothing.

_No __no __no __no __no nono**no**!_ Steve's mind supplies as he redoubles his efforts to get the damn thing into his hands. When his fingertips finally touch it, he exhales a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and works his fingers around it until he just shakes his head.

It's a fucking child's toy. It's a wonder the damn things worked at all. Larger than it needs to be, smooth plastic. He imagines it's probably some color like blindingly bright yellow or red. Without any light getting into the container, he hadn't been able to see a damn thing, but had at least been expecting something Radio Shack-grade. Not Fisher-Price.

He counts at least ten minutes until he gets the back separated from the front. His knees and thighs are screaming just as much as his shoulders and wrists, but none of that matters. He locks the pain away, smashing it into submission until it shuts up and lets him concentrate on trying to figure out how the insides of the toy are going to help him escape.

Help him save Danny.

He pushes away the image that comes to mind of him driving up to Rachel and Stan's house in his truck. Of the huge gates opening, and him going up the driveway. Of Rachel opening the door with tears running down her face, Stan standing stoically behind her. Grace oblivious since she isn't yet home from school.

He tries _so __hard_ to push away the movie that insists upon continuing to play in his mind where Grace comes inside to find her Uncle Steve, then looks to her mother's tear-stained face and back to Steve. How her little face crumples. How her eyes fill, pleading with him to tell her that he saved her Danno like he always does. That he didn't let her Danno die. That she wasn't going to grow up without the man who loved her more than anything else in the entire world there to tell her Danno loves her.

Steve feels his own eyes sting and then fill with moisture and it just pisses him off because dammit, he _does __not __cry_. This time when he wills the images away, they obey.

He focuses on the task at hand and finds exactly what he's looking for.

The small button is hidden on the lower inside edge of the plastic walkie-talkie casing. He knows as soon as he feels it that it's out of place; it has no functional reason for existing. He presses it. He hears a faint chirp, and suddenly his ankles and hands separate, the lock fastened there to bind the chains, to bind _him_, giving way.

That's all it had taken. The press of a little button on the inside of a toy. They could have been free within minutes of having been captured.

_Stupid, STUPID!_

His mind continues to rail against him, and Steve allows anger at himself, anger at the gangsters, anger at everyone who's ever done him or anyone he loved wrong, to fuel him now. Quickly stripping the chains from his body, ignoring the pain, ignoring the muscle cramps that any other time might have left even _him_ writhing on the floor. Ignoring everything as adrenaline courses through his veins, because he is _not_ going to see that movie in his head play out in real life.

He refuses to accept it could already be too late.

Assuming the Chinese had properly locked the container is an assumption Steve won't make. The down side to freighters is how the containers are stacked. End-to-end-to-end, always, and that means even if he can get this one's doors open, he may still find himself trapped.

Unacceptable.

Leave no man behind.

Failure is not an option.

Every word every commanding officer had ever uttered during BUD/s, during his years in Naval Intelligence, on duty as an active SEAL. Everything Joe had ever taught him. Every ounce of tough love administered by his father, all hits him square in the chest.

He's getting out.

There is nothing but that.

He doesn't _allow_ there to be anything but that.

Steve uses his hands to feel along the wall until he reaches a corner. So pitch dark, he knows if it's daylight out, he'll be blinded as soon as he gets the door open. And he has no idea which container Danny's in.

Doesn't matter.

He's getting out.

He's getting Danny out.

And he's going to fucking _kill_ every sonofabitch on this freighter if he has to, to do it.

He feels top to bottom. Except he can't reach all the way to the top. Even jumping, arms outstretched, he can't feel a ceiling. That means the container has to be at least eight-and-a-half feet high. That tells him nothing. He continues feeling along the walls, all four of them.

But there's only the feel of corrugated metal beneath his hands.

No way out.

He slams his body back into the metal, fists raised to pound against the wall seconds later, but…

…it gives way.

He falls.

Steve barely catches himself as he goes ass-over-teakettle off the side of a stack of containers. He can't see, it's too bright. He squeezes his eyes closed, hands barely clinging to the top edge of the container under the one he was in.

He hears the splash of the wall hit the water below. He'll join it soon if he can't get himself out of this.

He looks up. Squints against the sun. Realizes the wall of the container gave way simply because it's _old_. Rusted. It rusted out. Sonofa_bitch_, looking down and to the left and right, he sees they're _all_ old. His right hand starts slipping from sweat, the edge of the container is hot, _hot_, but while he registers the temperature, his brain refuses to listen to neurons that want to make him let go. Steve's right near the edge, right near a space that's clear enough for him to jump into.

Steve is free.

Of course he is.

Because there never was another option.

Now he has to find Danny. Has to arm himself. Has to not be seen. Has to get them safely off the cargo ship that, now that his eyes adjusting to his surroundings, he sees is in the middle of the Pacific.

He can do this. It's what he's trained for.

Only this time, instead of there being a target he's never met to extract from an impossible situation likely to get him killed, this time there's a victim he knows. It's personal like SEAL missions never were.

He doesn't _allow_ for any outcome but success.

* * *

><p>Danny wakes when every muscle screams, when his voice tries to give sound to his body's protests. His arms and legs are free. He feels the chain being moved around, slipped away. He's being turned this way and that. Manhandled. Moved.<p>

His body's assault on his nerve endings dulls just enough for him to become aware of a voice. It's a voice he should know. He feels fingertips being pressed into his thigh muscles and cries out in something that barely sounds like a forced whisper.

"Shhhhh," he hears the voice say and tries to place who it is.

But his mind won't stop crying out, the pain more severe than when he tore his ACL. Worse than when he took a header off a dirt bike at seventeen. More debilitating than when he'd taken a bullet to his gut his second year as a cop back in Jersey.

Funny, he'd never told his partner that story, he suddenly thinks. He'll have to tell Steve one of these days _why_ he's so adverse to getting shot. _Why_ the bullets whizzing around them scare him a little more than is strictly rational for a guy who's been a cop that long. He'll have to explain how he once lost a partner to a gunshot wound, Harry bleeding to death next to Danny on the wet, filthy surface of an alley.

Yeah, he'll have to tell Steve. The guy should know, right?

He tries to bellow as hands work their way along his shoulders, pressing _too __hard, __too __hard_ and down to his biceps. That voice keeps speaking, but he can't make heads or tails of the words. He twists, trying to get away from what the hands are doing to him, it _fucking __hurts_.

"Danny, _Danny_, it's me."

The voice. The hands. He manages to get his eyes open in little slits, sunlight pouring into the container making it nearly impossible to see. He sees a shadow appear in the midst of the burst of light and blinks, blinks, blinks so hard to try and make it out.

"Danny, can you hear me?"

He'll have to tell…hey, wait. Wait, he _does_…he'll have to tell Steve about the…the voice, that voice…

Danny blinks again, and the shadow focus itself a little. It's a head. A head, hair, a face.

He has to tell Steve something. Right. He has to tell him something about guns. Gunshots. Gunshot _wounds_, that's it.

"Danno, come on, I need you up and out of here, buddy."

Danno? Only Grace ever calls him Danno. Steve, he needs to tell _Steve_. Oh, _God_, why does everything hurt? Why does it stink like piss and sweat? Is that _him_? Why's the voice saying Danno? That's Grace, but this isn't Grace, it's a…he has to tell…

"Danny, come _on_," the voice growls, and why does the voice sound so angry? Danny can't help that he can't move and then oh, _ow __motherfucking __ow __**ow** __shit __**fuck**!_ The voice chuckles, maybe Danny said that all out loud?

"Have," Danny rasps as his world tries to right itself after being hauled unceremoniously to his feet, "to tell Steve…"

"Tell Steve what?" the voice asks, its owner pulling Danny's arm around a pair of shoulders. _Tall_ shoulders, dammit, what the hell?

"Not…" Danny stops and looks up, eyes now nearly all the way adjusted to the sunlight. He looks up because he realizes who the voice belongs to. Gunshot wound to the gut. He has to tell Steve. He should let his partner know these things, he thinks, head swimming as giddy relief floods through him. "Steve…"

"I got you, Danny. We're going for a swim."

"I…I can swim."

"I know you can, babe, I know. Come on."

Danny knows it's Steve now, yes, that's the voice. He lets himself sag against his partner. He knows Steve will save them. Steve's a superhero. Super SEAL, Gracie insists. With super powers that always save her Danno. Yeah, Steve has it.

"Okay, we're going to jump, you hold onto me, I'll take the brunt of impact."

Steve's words register somewhere, but then again not so much as Danny fights to remain conscious. He only knows Steve's arms come around him, then force his own arms around the neck of his behemoth of a partner, and he just goes with it because hey, he's there, Steve's there, there's gunshot wounds, there's bleeding out that he has to explain still and it's all…yeah…

The water shocks him awake.

He's clinging to Steve.

Steve's keeping both their heads above water, then turning and starting to swim with one arm, kicking both legs, both feet, propelling them toward something. Something over there in the distance, a dark blob on the water.

Danny holds still. He knows if he struggles it'll make it worse. He can barely move anything anyway. He's barely clutching Steve's arm, hanging on as they move slowly.

And then he must have dozed off because suddenly someone else is there. Shouts. Noises. Hands reaching out, unfamiliar, these aren't Steve's. Hauled up, limp, head lolling. Steve's voice yelling at him. Laying out on something hard, someone's fingers against his wrist, then against the pulse point on his neck.

He tries to bat the hand away. Feels a hand grab his. Knows the gun-calloused fingers. Manages to blink his eyes open as someone throws a blanket over his body.

Someone brings water to Danny's mouth for the first time in way more than a day. He sips, then drinks, feeling the cool liquid travel through his esophagus all the way to his stomach. He pants when it's pulled away, just wants to sleep now, hurts, everything just hurts.

"Danny, come on, I need you awake. Honeymoon's not over yet, partner."

Steve's hand squeezes his and Danny manages a feeble squeeze in return. He looks up into large, concerned eyes and tries to smile, but he doesn't know if it's more of a grimace than anything. "You know," Danny says, eyelids blinking slowly, "I'm all for weekend getaways, partner…"

He feels himself start to drift, but Steve lightly slaps his cheek with the palm of his free hand. "No, stay with me, come on. Weekend getaways, huh? Come on, Danny."

This time Danny knows what comes out is a smile. "Yeah, getaways, but you know, this isn't exactly what I'd call…" His breathing becomes labored and he struggles to take in a breath. Maybe he inhaled seawater on the way from there to here. Here. There. Wherever.

Steve chuckles, the sound watery, like maybe it's more of a sob than a laugh anyway, causing a little frown on Danny's forehead. "Yeah, it's not exactly the most stellar one you've been on. I know."

"C'n do better'n tthhhhat," Danny slurs as Steve pulls him up into his lap and what is he doing, Danny doesn't need…sleep. He needs sleep.

"I got you, Danno. I'll take you skiing if you want, okay? We can hit the Alps. Or maybe we'll whitewater raft through the Grand Canyon. There's a fantastic little place in Bangkok I want to show you, all the women you can imagine, the most beautiful women you've ever seen, partner."

"Women," Danny whispers.

"Open your eyes, Danny, come on."

"Tired."

"I know. I know, but Grace, she's going to be there when we get back to port, and you have to be awake for that, okay?"

"Grace…"

"Yes." Steve's quiet for a moment. "The Coast Guard picked us up. Chin and Kono and Lori, they found us with Joe's help. The medics are going to take you to the sick bay, okay?"

"Grace."

"Grace will be there, Danny."

"Take her?"

"Take her? Where?"

Danny smiles as he feels himself lifted onto a stretcher. "Weekend getaway," he says, eyes closing as Steve finally lets go of his hand. "Moron."

The last thing he hears as he slips into sleep at last, is, "Yeah, Danno. We'll take her."

* * *

><p>Steve balls his hands into fists, watching from the deck as land grows nearer and nearer.<p>

He's managed to keep his long-ago promise to Grace, to always keep her Danno safe.

The first thing he'll do, once her joy at being reunited with him abates a little, is ask her where she wants to go the next time her dad has her for the weekend.

Because now he has a promise made to Danny that he fully intends to keep.


	48. Ways 95 and 96

**Way 95**

Cheer his successes whether in business or in other areas of everyday living.

Steve's grin was so broad Danny half-wondered if his partner's head might just split in half from the sheer force of it.

The grin was firmly in place because not _only_ had Steve gotten the Marquis running again, but _this_ time, the old bucket of bolts had made it all the way to Rachel's _and __back_ without breaking down. Without Danny having to get out and push.

That first time had been emasculating for Steve. Danny had known it, and had countered it in the only way he knew how: by ranting at Steve about the whole situation.

But this time, Steve had rumbled into the parking lot of Danny's motel just as Danny was about to get into his Camaro, and said confidently, "I'll take you to pick up Grace."

Danny had, of course, been dubious.

_Really_ dubious.

But Steve seemed so goddamn _happy_ about the whole thing. So in the end he acquiesced with a strict warning that if the Marquis made him late to pick his daughter up, or stranded said daughter on the side of the road, his partner would pay _dearly_.

And now here they were, Marquis tucked safely back in the garage, Grace asking Steve questions about this part of the car or that part just because she was an insanely curious girl. Danny stood back, hands in his pockets, rocking heel-to-toe and watched as Steve proudly explained it all to the little girl. With that ridiculously huge grin still plastered to his face.

When at last Gracie tired of car talk and headed into the house, Steve hung back a little, nudged Danny's arm with his and said, "Huh?"

Danny shook his head, unable to stop his own smile from appearing. "Yeah, yeah, you did good, partner."

And Steve's smile grew impossibly bigger and brighter.

For a man who had so little to smile about these days, Danny thought, that reaction was totally worth the first time pushing the car up the hill.

_Totally_ worth it.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Way 96 contains a smattering of spoilers for both Season 1 and Season 2 to date.<em>

**Way 96**

Graciously teach him how to demonstrate his love for you.

Lesson #1: He Pays

"No, no, no, a thousand times, no!"

"Oh, come on, Danny, it's not like we haven't stopped somewhere for dinner before."

"Yes, my wallet is _very_ well aware of the number of times we've stopped for dinner before, _partner_."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"Would it help if I said I left it in my other pants when I had to change because of the copious amounts of blood our suspect leaked onto the pair I was wearing?"

"No, and what are you doing, mocking the way I talk?"

"I would never mock you."

"Sure you wouldn't."

"Danny, I'm starving and I don't feel like cooking."

"Let me guess, you want _me_ to cook."

"Noooo. I want _us_ to go out to _eat_ at a _rest_aurant."

"Not until you get your wallet."

"You're a real pain-in-the-ass, you know that?"

"Likewise."

Lesson #2: He Compliments

"You are hereby forbidden forevermore from mentioning anything having to do with my attire ever again."

"What, all I did was say I like how you look without a tie."

"Yes. It was the one thing you focused on when I came to see you while you were in _jail_."

"It gave me something to look forward to."

"Me without ties, this was what you looked forward to?"

"Well, it's not like there's a lot of distractions in prison."

"Oh, great. Makes me feel _so_ much better. But seriously. No more talk of my clothing. Like _ever_."

"What the hell, Danny? I just said I liked the short-sleeved plaid thing, that's all."

"You are mocking me because it's what I wore on my first date with Gabby. You are making insinuations with your _eyes_."

"I'm not _mocking_ you, Jesus…you are the most impossible, infuriating _jackass_ I have ever met!"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Augh!"

"So you seriously think I look good in this? Hey, why are you facepalming?"

Lesson #3: He Initiates

"I'm just sayin', McGarrett, that if you want a hug from my daughter, _you__'__re_ going to have to approach _her_."

"I can't do that, Danny. She might think I'm some sort of weirdo."

"She already _knows_ you're some sort of weirdo, idiot."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well? You gonna man up and ask my daughter for a hug when she gets here?"

"I'm not…I can't…_Dan-ny_!"

"Christ, you are the most socially awkward person I've ever known. How the hell you managed to get Lieutenant Rollins—"

"That is _completely_ different!"

"Maybe a little. But the fact is that you probably let everyone _else_ make the first move, am I right? Don't need to go all-out because they just glom onto you like you're God's gift to Earth, right?"

"Glom?"

"Glom."

"I've made first moves before."

"Oh, yeah? Then why the hell does trying to give Grace a hug plaster Combo Face Number Four all over your mug, huh?"

"Combo…Danny, what the _hell_?"

"I'm just sayin'."

"Okay, fine, all right, I'll ask her for a hug."

"Good. But don't scare her."

"Scare her?"

"Yeah, by being all…you know…_you_."

"That's helpful advice. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'm pretty sure I can do this."

"You don't _sound_ sure."

"I am."

"Prove it."

"Prove it?"

"Prove it."

"Okay."

"Mmmphhh-_oof_!"

….

...

….

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Proving I can make the first move."

"Okay, fine. You're good at the hug thing and the first move thing, but Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"If you don't let go of me right now, there won't be enough left of you for Grace to hug."

Lesson #4: He Saves

"Steve, what are you—?"

"Look _out_!"

"Shit!"

"_Danny_!"

"_OOF!_"

"Got him!"

"Uh…Steve?"

"Don't worry, he was the last one."

"Steve?"

"I don't think the two we left alive are going to cause any trouble now."

"_Steven!_"

"What?"

"While I'm appreciative of the fact that you just saved my life, I would appreciate it even _more_ if you weren't laying on top of me head-to-foot when Chin and Kono come in here to book 'em. They might get the wrong idea."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Lesson #5: Every Once In A While, He's Right

"I'm just saying, Danny, that if we do it this way, if we go talk to Manolo _before_ we check out the storage unit, we might avoid getting ambushed."

"Let me get this straight: you, Mr. Shoot-First-And-Ask-Questions-Later, want to _avoid_ a shootout? Want to _avoid_ a situation potentially lethal to my good health."

"Maybe I'm learning something from you after all, Danno."

"Huh. Maybe you are, at that."

"Don't get used to it, though."

"Was that a gun I heard cocking?"

"Yeah. I heard it, too."

"And all you wanted to do was talk to him."

"I tried."

"And an admirable try it was, too."

"Hey, Danny?"

"What?"

"Maybe you should call for backup."

"Are you _ill_?"

"No. But I just spotted a dozen guys on the north side of the house."

"Oh. Backup's a good plan, partner. Good plan."

"But we still don't have time to wait."

"Duke? It's Detective Williams, send backup to two-oh-four-five Io Lane."

"Danny, they're getting closer to our position."

"Christ. When you're right, you're right."

"Even when I don't want to be."

"Ready, partner?"

"Let's go."

Lesson #6: He Understands

"Dammit, when I said I wanted you to keep me from getting killed, I didn't mean by killing _yourself_!"

"Not…dead…Danny."

"Not _yet_. McGarrett, I swear to _God_, if you die—"

"Ha…did—didn't know you c-cared."

"Asshole. Of _course_ I care."

"Rea-really?"

"Oh, my God, you…yes, okay? Christ. _This_ is what it takes happening for you to _get_ that?"

"G-Guess it's a good…good thing it happened then…huh?"

"No, Steven, you backwards sonofabitch, now you stay with me, you hear?"

"'Cause you…care."

"Yeah, yes. Yes. Because I care. And you should _not_ be able to smile like that with a bullet wound to the _neck_."

"Just…a scratch."

"I hate you when you say shit like that."

"Nuh-uh…you _care_."

"I take it back."

Lesson #6: He Trusts

"Thank you."

"For what? Doing my job?"

"You kept me from going off the deep end. You took charge when we got the call that Wo Fat had my sister. You…kept your cool. You rescued my sister."

"Hey, all in a day's work for Five-0, right?"

"No, Danny, not all in a day's work. You…I don't trust very many people."

"I know."

…

…

…

"Oh. Yeah, Steve, yeah, stop with the faces. I…I know."

"She's my _sister_. I trusted you and you didn't let me down."

…

…

…

"Most people let me down."

"Hey, come here, big guy. Come here."

"I get a hug now?"

"You get a hug now."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. No, seriously, McGarrett, don't ever mention it again because if Kono finds out I'm giving you hugs willy-nilly, I'll never hear the end of it."

"This one's for a good reason."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Lesson #7: He Lies

"Thanks, partner."

"For what?"

"You know…what you told the FBI for me."

"Oh. No big, Danny."

"Actually, it _is_ a big, Steven. It's a _really_ big big."

"Big big?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to thank you here."

"Okay, all right. You're welcome."

"How come?"

"How come you're welcome?"

"_No!_ How come you lied for Matt?"

"I didn't lie for Matt, Danny."

"You misdirected."

"I can misdirect like nobody's business. Naval Intelligence, remember?"

"Yeah, that you can. Spur-of-the-moment too, that was good. Thanks for doing that for him."

"I didn't do it for _him_."

"You…didn't do it for him."

"No."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

"Well, thanks."

"You're welcome, Danno."

Lesson #8: He Gives

"So how was the dolphin experience?"

"Oh, it was grand. _So_ grand, in fact, that my daughter is hopelessly in love with you. I'm talking major crush territory here, McGarrett. The entire time it was 'Steve' this and 'Steve' that."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. To the point where she has asked when you're giving her something next."

"Giving…_her_…something?"

"Yes."

"Danny, what did you tell Grace?"

"Whaddya mean, what'd I tell her? I told her you gave her the dolphin thing."

"I didn't give it to _her_, Danno. I _gave_ it to _you_."

"What, because I love swimming so much? With water mammals, no less?"

"If I wanted you to go swimming with water mammals, I'd drag you out to join me on my morning swim."

"Like that'll happen."

"Precisely my point. I just wanted you to have time with Grace, not have her crush on me."

"Too late, my friend."

"So…what does a grown man give a little girl who's crushing on him?"

"A stuffed dolphin?"

"I can do that."

"You don't have to, you know."

"I know. I want to."

"Why?"

"The nicer I am to her, the more she'll like it here. The more she likes it here, the more she'll make _you_ like it here. And the more _you_ like it here, well…"

"Well what? You can't just leave it hanging there."

"I can and I am."

"I have revised my assessment of you. You are not literally insane. You are simply stunted."

"This from the man who's shorter than most women on this island."

"You know what? Do _not_ get my daughter a dolphin. You do not deserve the affections of the most beautiful thing I've ever created. Okay?"

"Danny, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. Wait, what's this? What are you handing to me? What…is this another week at that hotel?"

"Maybe."

"Hey, how come it's for a three-bedroom suite this time?"

"I can't disappoint the little girl who's crushing on me, can I?"

"Oh, my _God_, you mean _you__'__re_ coming this time?"

"Yup."

"McGarrett, you are the _only_ person I know who can do something so fucked up under the guise of doing something nice, thus ensuring I have absolutely no way of complaining about it without sounding like an ungrateful asshole."

"I guess I know you pretty well then, huh?"

"Jerk."

Lesson #9: He Shares

"Come on, Danno, it's not that big a deal. I've got the space, you've got nowhere to go. You can stay here 'til you find a place, okay?"

"I'm not so sure this is the best idea. We spend too much time together already as it is."

"What are you talking about? When you were staying in that windowless motel room, I came over just to hang out. We were both off, no cases…well, until the phone call…no Grace, just us. We spend time together outside work. Remember the fireworks? How about that time at the beach? I know, the trip to LA."

"That was for a police conference."

"I know that."

"So what you're saying is that you don't mind spending time with me outside work. Okay, fine, I can handle that and all, but…McGarrett, this is like…twenty-four/seven here."

"Only for a couple weeks until you find a place that's suitable for you and Grace. Okay? Not forever, Danno."

"Not forever."

"No. I'd kill you inside a month if it was forever."

"Something you can do while sleeping, no doubt."

"No doubt."

"You know, maybe your childhood wasn't as stunted as I thought."

"What makes you say that?"

"You offer me a place to stay. You know how to share, is all I'm sayin'."

"Yeah, I know how to share. I share with Catherine, too. Even some with Chin. Not so much with Lori, but definitely with Kono. I share lots of things. My house, my food, my beer, my bed."

"Okay, my friend, that is called _over_sharing."

"Make up your mind, Danno."

Lesson #10: He Stays

"Are you going to accept it?"

"I don't know."

"It would mean you'd have to resign as head of the task force, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it's what you want, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, to go back to traipsing around the world, no ties to anywhere, coming and going like a stealth ninja, no obligations other than completing the mission, yadda yadda yadda."

"I used to live for it. It used to be the only thing I could ever see myself doing. I used to think I'd never actually stop doing it, just get killed in the line of duty or something."

"Used to?"

"Yeah."

"Not so much anymore?"

"No, not so much."

…

…

…

"So? You going to take the Navy up on that? Leave us so you can go back to being a full-time SEAL?"

…

…

…

"What? What's with that look, McGarrett?"

"No, Danny. I don't think I will take them up on it."

"No?"

"Uh-uh."

"Good."

"You want me to stick around? Keep dragging you into situations that threaten your life on a daily basis? Keep driving your car like a maniac? Keep inflicting my insanity on your poor long-suffering self?"

"I…yeah, maybe. Maybe I do. You gonna make something of it?"

"Nah."

"Did you just rip that order up?"

"Yep."

"You're nuts. You're insane! You don't just rip up orders from the top brass of the United States Navy, what the hell…have you lost your _mind_? Oh, my God, you're going to get court-martialed for destruction of military property or some shit and they'll lock you up in some fucked up place like Gitmo and…hey, hey, why are you smiling at me like that?"

"Because I wouldn't leave _that_ right _there__…_for the world, Danno."

"Hmph. Well. That is good."


	49. Ways 97 and 98

**Way 97**

Give him coupons to redeem—maybe for a back scratch or a shoulder rub.

"What's this?"

"Hm?"

Steve holds out a small business-card-sized piece of paper with child-like writing on it. "It says, 'Good for one hug,'" he explains, brow furrowing a bit. "One hug? Really?"

"Hey, give it!" Danny snipes, snatching the paper from his partner's hand. "That's a Hug Coupon from my daughter."

"She gives you…coupons? For _hugs_?"

"She does. It's a little game we play." Danny looks down at the paper, rubs his thumb along it affectionately. His eyes go soft and Steve knows he's about to get a little glimpse into Danno the Father. Given his usual abrasiveness, these rare moments Steve finds fascinating. "Ever since Rachel and I split, it's something Grace and I have done. Sort of like, you know, we can't just get a hug whenever we want one anymore. It's…like a promise that there'll be a next time."

Suddenly Danny's face flushes red. He slides the paper into his jeans pocket and finishes the coffee in his mug, setting the empty cup down in Steve's sink harder than is strictly necessary.

"That's sweet," Steve says, and he means it.

Danny looks up at him and his embarrassment seems to fade when he realizes Steve's serious. "Yes, it is. Thank you."

There's a moment of silence where maybe they look at each other just a bit too long, before Steve rubs the back of his neck and sort of half-smiles. "You give those coupons out to just anyone?"

Danny's eyes narrow, like he knows McGarrett's up to something, but fuck if he can figure out what. "No. Only my daughter," he replies, voice flat.

"Oh," Steve says, face falling.

Eyebrows rising, Danny twists his head, looking for all the world like a Cocker Spaniel, Steve thinks, and why he'd think that is beyond him. "You want a Hug Coupon?"

"Well, you know," Steve stalls, "Gracie's hugs are pretty awesome."

"You, my friend, have never spoken a truer word," Danny grins with a finger jabbing the air. "I'll see what I can do."

Steve's face lights up and he thinks, _Jesus, __when __did __I __get __to __the __point __where __a __hug __from __a __kid __makes __me __this __happy?_ But see, it's not just _any_ kid. It's the kid who brought Danny to Hawaii and so, yeah, that's something special.

"But you know," Danny says, stepping closer, and he's waving a hand, waving Steve closer, and it reminds Steve of that moment after the Sarin Incident, as he calls it in his own mind, when Danny came back to work and was giving out hugs like it was Christmas or something, and they was his gift to all. "You don't need a coupon."

Steve just looks at him, like the concept's completely foreign and, well, yeah. In Steve's world it sort of is.

"All you have to do is ask, partner."

Steve ducks his head and takes what Danny offers, arms and warmth and human contact and thinks, well, he can use hugs, everybody can use hugs. So he won't say a word, no smart remarks, no deflecting. He's got Gracie Hugs to look forward to courtesy of little Hug Coupons and he's got this right here and right now, with no Sang Min on the horizon to interrupt.

_Hugs __are __good_, Steve thinks. Only his mom had ever hugged with abandon like Danny does, he thinks, and the memory of it floods him, and he smiles. Hugs are _real_ good. And maybe...now that he's not worried about a human trafficker interrupting, and there are no fellow SEALs around to bust his ass for being a pussy, and nobody's here but Danny who seems to have no problem hugging anyone, really…maybe now he can admit to himself that louder-than-words Jersey hugs are the _best_.

Except maybe for Grace Hugs. He'll have to compare next time he sees her...

* * *

><p><strong>Way 98<strong>

Buy him a gift certificate to his favorite lunch spot and put it in his wallet.

"All right, Kamekona, tell me who bought this."

"Howzit to you too, _brah_."

"Sorry. Hi. Now who bought it?"

"Uh…not sure I remember…"

"What, I have to buy a plate lunch to find out?"

"Why would you _buy_ it when you've got a gift certificate?"

"Kamekona, what'll it take for you to tell me who bought this?"

"No-can-do, McGarrett. Sworn to secrecy. Lips are sealed and all that."

"Oh, the way your lips are sealed when you swear you won't tell us where the drug dealers are hanging out and somehow it magically slips out? _That_ sort of sealed?"

"Uh…"

"You know I can kill a man by breathing on him."

"Ha, that's what your partner says!"

"Danny. Danny bought this, didn't he."

"That didn't sound like a question."

"Why'd he buy me a gift certificate to here?"

"I don't know nothin' 'bout it, _brah_."

"Kame_ko_na…"

"All right, all right. I don't know what's worse, though. You threatening me with ninja SEAL or him threatening me with gettin' all Jersey."

"Well?"

"He just wanted to do something nice for you."

"Just…what?"

"You don't think he knows how to be nice? He was nice to that pretty museum lady the whole time they were here."

"Wait, he bought this while he was here on a _date_?"

"Yeah, _braddah_, escorted the lady to the car, then came running back saying he'd forgotten something, and bought that."

"For me."

"Well, since you the one got it, I'd say, yeah."

"I don't get it."

"McGarrett, just take it for what it's meant, yeah? A gift."

"I see you got my little present."

"Danny?"

"You know anyone else on this island with an accent like this?"

"Hey, _braddah__haole_, howzit?"

"Hey, K-Man, howzit right back."

"Did you just call him K-Man?"

"I did. And you're here but you haven't ordered yet, I see."

"I'm here…why did you get me this, specifically labeled for today's date?"

"So you'd come here for lunch. Today."

"Why not just _ask_ me?"

"Hey, boys, I'm stayin' outta dis one. You tell me when you ready to order, yeah?"

"I could've just asked you, but this was more fun."

"More fun."

"Yeah. Messing with you."

"And you say _I_ need therapy."

"Yes, you do. Because what little therapy _I_ need is foregone by aforementioned messing with _you_, my friend. Now come on, let's order before Kamekona decides to fold the shrimp truck and start a new business selling corndogs."

"You think that would sell here, _brah_?"

"No, K-Man. No, I do not. These people do not appreciate the finer points of Coney Island cuisine. McGarrett? Two lunch specials, please. Hey, you just going to stand there all day or are we going to have lunch, Steven? That _I_ have paid for, I might add."

"Danny…"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"For what? A ten-dollar plate lunch? For luring you out here using my own brand of ninja trickery?"

"No. Ye—for keeping me from knocking down walls at home on a Sunday out of sheer boredom."

"Hey, what can I say? I know you well, partner."

"Yeah. I guess you do."


	50. Way 99

_Author's Note: The Seven Natural Laws of the Universe are available in many different forms all over the internet. The manner in which I have them listed is not garnered from any single source, but is my own interpretation from reading various different sources. No direct quotes from any available sources are intentional._

_Author's Note II: Because Way 99 and Way 100 turned out to be very long, I've decided to stretch this out a bit by posting only Way 99 in this chapter, and then making the final way its own chapter. So you get today and tomorrow still!_

**Way 99**

Hide notes for him around the house where only he will find them.

Steve's not sure when he starts noticing it, but at some point he's gotten used to, every now and then, finding little things around the house that don't belong to him. That didn't belong to his father or his mother. That aren't his sister's.

Little hair bands that he knows belong to Grace.

Change in an empty candy dish that sits on a bookshelf in the living room. Coins Steve knows he didn't put there.

An HPD procedure manual left conspicuously on top of his dresser that had made him laugh out loud when he found it.

Smaller things, like a stray button from a shirt not a color Steve himself owns.

A small school photo of Gracie hanging on his freezer door.

A pair of swim trunks mixed into his laundry that he remembers from the first time Danny agreed to go for a swim during a team barbecue.

A long-ish blond hair woven into the fibers of one of his beach towels when he pulls it from the dryer.

Little things, really.

Things that shouldn't actually be in his house, but are there, nonetheless, as though defying the Seven Natural Laws of the Universe, much like Danny defies every rule Steve's ever had to live by just by breathing, it seems.

Steve sits back on the couch, a gold cufflink rolling around in the palm of his hand, and thinks about that for a moment. Not the cufflink – he knows it's Danny's, because Danny had come back to Steve's place after Meka's wake, stripped off his dress uniform jacket, taken the cufflinks off and put them on top of the TV so he could roll up his sleeves. This one obviously fell off the television and landed under the TV stand, which is where Steve's just found it.

But more along the lines of the Seven Natural Laws, is where his thoughts are straying now. He remembers the shaman in the Steppes of Mongolia, who patiently started explaining them one night eight years ago as he nursed Steve back to health after a particularly nasty firefight that left every single one of Steve's SEAL team wounded to some degree.

The Law of Vibration

"Everything vibrates and nothing rests," the shaman had explained. "Like energy attracts like energy. _Everything_ is energy."

Steve can't help but huff out a laugh. If Danny has to be equated to any of the Seven Laws, that's the one that fits him to a T. He's constantly in motion, to the point where now, when Danny's _not_ hanging out at Steve's, the house seems deathly still and eerily silent. Like the tomb it must have felt like while his father laid there dead from a gunshot wound, before Danny came in to find him.

Steve swallows hard. He's never really thought about what it was like to be the first man on-scene, but the case had been Danny's from the beginning and really, now that he thinks on it, it seems odd that it wasn't Danny's and _Meka's_. No, it was Danny's alone. He's read the reports Danny had filed after the initial few days of investigating the scene.

He remembers reading that Danny arrived with six HPD officers in tow, entered the premises with weapon drawn, sent half the officers up to the second floor and the other half to sweep the first floor and out back, then sent them to check the perimeter of the house. Sent them to do all that while he, Danny himself, moved to the dead body on the floor.

To Steve's father.

He feels the breath hitch in his throat and tries to block out what Danny's eyes would've seen. Wonders if Danny can block it out, now knowing the victim's son as he does. Wonders what Danny sees every time he's in the McGarrett house – if he relives finding John lying there in a pool of blood or if he can block it out much more than Steve's own imagination seems to be able to.

Maybe one of these days he'll ask Danny why HPD assigned him only, without his partner at the time. But, he reasons, maybe Danny _himself_ doesn't know. Maybe it was because an energy was _pulling_ Danny to this house, to this case. To a dead man and a dead man's son, like it was always supposed to have happened that way.

The Law of Relativity

"Nothing is what it is until you relate it to something." The shaman was wiping at Steve's fevered brow with a wet cloth. It was cool, and soothing, and Steve remembers sighing softly at the sensation as the rest of him threatened to overheat from the inside out. "One man's nature can only be measured in relation to another man."

Steve thinks about this as it applies to his partnership, and isn't all that surprised when his brain tells him that while he and Danny might appear to be polar opposites – and in some ways really and truly are – that maybe the reason they get along so well is because of how they are _together_, measured against each other.

That's a new thought he hasn't had before, and when he recalls how even that first time they seemed in synch, even after the arm-twisting and the punch-throwing, even through Danny ranting about getting shot…after all that, they stayed together.

Danny could've told his captain he didn't want to be Steve's partner. He didn't. And he's still there, by his side like it was specifically carved out for him by the Universe.

_Huh_, Steve thinks. _Maybe it was._

The Law of Cause and Effect

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." Steve had known that one already, it was pretty much a basic Physics principle, but then the shaman had added, "Be the cause for what you wish for, and you will achieve what you desire."

Steve recalls over the last few months of his pursuit of the Hesse brothers, before he finally had caught Anton and smugly thought how he'd easily have Victor with Anton as a bargaining chip, that he'd started wondering what it might be like to _not_ be racing around the world trying to get a step ahead of terrorists like the Hesses.

He'd tried to push the thoughts away at the time, feeling guilt toward his SEAL team for even thinking them at all, but something was calling to him, he thinks now, and that something was Hawaii. Like a siren song originating in the middle of the Pacific, and when he didn't choose to come back of his own free will, the Universe _made_ it happen.

But to think that his father had died simply to get him to come back to Hawaii is not only narcissistic, it's downright depressing.

So Steve stops thinking about that and instead thinks about how the Law of Cause and Effect might apply to his partnership. He isn't quite sure that anything he does where Danny's concerned is necessarily any sort of design to get something he wants. Because basically, all he wants is a partner he can trust and count on, and Danny just jumps in and gives him that without Steve having to do anything at all.

Maybe it's _Danny_ applying the Law, then. Maybe Danny rants and raves at him over procedure and how he does things because he _knows _it'll just keep Steve doing things his own way. The more Danny pushes, the more Steve stays the same and then his epiphany is…maybe Danny _doesn't_ want him to change. Maybe Danny wants him to stay just the way he is.

And that makes his mouth quirk up in a smile, because for all Danny gripes about Steve's methods, he never _ever_ backs down from following him into the fray. The cause is Danny's bitching. The effect is that nothing changes. And Danny doesn't seem to _want_ it to.

The Law of Polarity

"Everything has an opposite, my friend," the shaman had whispered as he gently held Steve's head up enough so he could drink the offered broth. "Polar opposites make existence possible."

And here he is, back to thinking about polar opposites – about him and Danny. This one seems easy in his mind. This one seems to be saying that without each other, he and Danny wouldn't exist.

Which sort of makes his brain hurt, and he doesn't think it means they wouldn't _literally_ exist. It's just that they wouldn't exist as they do right now, and that's something because in their own ways, they're both happy. Gracie says her Danno's happy, she's told him that a few times now. And Steve guesses that in spite of the continuing shitstorm that seems to come every three to five weeks that rains on Five-0's parade because Wo Fat is still that much of an asshole, Steve's pretty happy with things, too.

The shaman's eyes had twinkled as his hands had dipped and swooped to illustrate his words. "If what you are doesn't coexist with what you are not, then you cannot be."

So maybe that's why he and Danny coexist so well, he thinks. Maybe it's because he is what Danny's not, and Danny is what _he's_ not. They're sort of like two halves of a whole, maybe, light filling up the dark spaces in each other, slotting together on the job and even off the job in a way Steve's never before experienced.

He thinks he kind of likes it, and then barks out a laugh when he imagines trying to explain any of this to his partner. The _look_ he would get…

The Law of Rhythm

"Everything has a natural cycle. For all the bad, there is always good. Night follows day as the new generations replace the old. Change is constant, and when things are at their worst, you must know they will always get better."

He's often thought his and Danny's give-and-take method of communicating and just _being_ was something like a rhythm all its own. Steve pushes, Danny shoves back. Steve does something, Danny gives him hell. Danny laments over missed time with Grace and Steve gives him a gift to make what time he _does_ get, count.

For all the bad…the death of Steve's father…there is always good…a new life in Hawaii…a new partner, one that's become his best friend…a new _ohana_ unlike any he ever knew before.

Night…the despair and helplessness he felt hearing the shot that ended John's life…follows day…the victory he'd felt in capturing Anton.

New generations…Steve returning to Hawaii…replace the old…his dead parents. New generations…Grace, and her father's love for her bringing him to a place he would never have come on his own…replace the old…Danny and Rachel, and their fucked up marriage and attempt to reunite that didn't work. Didn't work and left Danny open to finding Gabby.

Steve smiles softly when he thinks of how his partner reacts to Dr. Asano. Giddy as a schoolboy, just as tongue-tied and, Steve thinks, not unlike he was the first time he met Catherine.

There's definitely a strange rhythm between himself and Danny. Damned if he knows how to properly label it though, and damned if he cares that he can't.

The Law of Gestation

"Things cannot be rushed. Everything takes time to manifest. You must first plant the seed, and then you must give the Universe time to make that seed grow. You must nourish it, protect it, focus on nurturing it, and it will become as it should."

Steve thinks about his sister, and about how they've become closer than they ever were as children, since their father's death. He thinks about how seeing her after ten years made him feel, how he wanted nothing more than to cling to her like she was the memory of his past rolled up into one small package.

How her kidnapping made him desperate with fear. How her questions about what was in the Champ box proved her intelligence and tenacity, as well as her penchant for drawing trouble in her own direction. There is definitely a seed there that's growing, flourishing, albeit slowly.

And then he thinks about this particular Law as it relates to his partner. He looks down at the gold cufflink that he's now smeared with fingerprints, and wonders what the seed was that has grown over time into the friendship they share today. A friendship that seems to become more solid no matter _how_ many fucked up things happen to them and around them.

He's not sure what that seed was, or who planted it first. Maybe it was Danny with his fist to Steve's jaw, planting a seed that said _I'm here, I'll back you up, but you will never have the upper hand, you fucker._ Sure enough, Danny never makes things easy. But, Steve can admit, he does make things _better_. Steve would be bored to the point where he'd be blowing things up just for fun with a partner that agreed with him all the time.

Or maybe Steve's the one who planted the seed when he stole Danny's case out from under him with one phone call to the governor. Or maybe, if he wants to get esoteric about things, the seed was planted before, with Danny and Rachel's marriage coming to an end. Or with the birth of a little girl who became the sole reason for Danny to live.

Perhaps the seed was on Steve's side, planted way back when his mother died and he was shipped off to the mainland. Maybe the trauma of that experience, that caused Steve to make the decisions he made about how to live his life, were where everything had started. Or maybe even before that, back to _his_ birth, or _Danny's_ birth. Their parents' births.

Steve's head is starting to spin to the point where he has to shake it to right his thoughts. If everything is by some sort of Design, or if Fate really exists, or if the Universe really and truly has a plan for everything and everyone, then who knows how far back he might have to go to find the one seed that led to this very moment in this very location with the very people he now finds himself surrounded by?

He resolves to stop thinking about it before he really and truly _does_ get that aneurism Danny's always on about.

The Law of Transmutation

"Energy moves in and out of physical form," the shaman said on the last day, when Steve was finishing tying his boot laces and stuffing the supplies the village gave his team into his pack. "The more you focus on what you desire, the more you will move the energy of the Universe into making what you desire come to you."

"You can't make things happen with your mind," Steve had countered as he'd zipped up the pack.

The shaman had smiled, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He'd run a hand through his hair in seeming exasperation and gestured expansively like he was trying to indicate everything that existed. "The Universe's path is created by the energy of your thoughts, my friend," he'd said.

Sitting up on the edge of the couch, Steve finds himself staring at the cufflink cradled in his hand. The way the shaman's eyes had crinkled. The color of his eyes. He'd been old, his hair snow white. His skin was dark from the sun, but he'd been a white man, no doubt about it. Steve knew even back then that those who lived on the Steppes were a mixture of Nordic, Russian and sometimes a little Chinese ancestry – far less Asian-looking than most realized – and so the man's physical appearance hadn't surprised him at all once he'd become coherent enough to take note of it.

"You are creating your path with every thought you have," the shaman had continued, and he'd smiled widely as Steve had turned to go.

Steve shoots to his feet, the cufflink dropping from his hand like a hot coal. That _smile_. But…it's impossible. He and Danny are the same age, there's no way even if reincarnation _exists_ that the shaman out there in the barrenness of the Steppes could have anything to do with the New Jersey cop who's become his partner. His confidante. His most staunch supporter and yet his most adamant accuser when he steps out of line.

The eyes, though.

The _smile_.

Steve looks up as a familiar figure enters his living room. He stares at Danny for a moment. A _long_ moment, as Danny…as Danny _smiles_ at him by way of greeting.

The _eyes_. The way they crinkle at the edges.

The color of them.

The shape of his mouth. The smile.

Steve shakes his head and swallows hard.

"Hey, Rambo, you look like you've just seen a ghost. What gives?"

Steve's gaze lingers for a second or two before he looks down to find where the dropped cufflink rolled to. "Found this," he manages to say, folding in half to pluck it from the area rug. He rights himself and holds out his hand.

Danny moves forward, running a hand through his hair.

_Like the shaman._

Danny's arms open wide, palms-up, as though trying to wrap his arms around everything that exists.

Expansively. _Just like the shaman._

"I never thought I'd see that again," Danny says, reaching out and gently taking the small piece of metal. "Gracie gave me these the last year Rachel and I were married," he explains as he tucks it into the small pocket just above the larger one on his right hip. "Thank you, my friend."

"_The Universe's path is created by the energy of your thoughts, my friend."_

Steve feels the air whoosh out of his lungs. Danny moves forward and catches him as he curls forward under assault from his own mind. His mind that's rebelling against him thinking something impossible.

"Danny," he pants as his partner maneuvers him to the couch without a word.

"Steve, you okay?" Danny asks, settling him onto a thick soft cushion before he falls down.

"Where were you eight years ago?" Steve asks, leaning forward as he tries to catch his breath.

"What?"

"Eight years ago," Steve repeats, then looks up into the blue eyes. How could he have _forgotten_ the shaman's eyes when faced with Danny's nearly every day for almost two years now? "October, two thousand-three."

Danny nods and looks down at his own feet, which shuffle uncomfortably. "Gracie was nineteen months old when I got shot in the line of duty," Danny explains, then looks up to meet Steve's eyes. "I was in a coma from the second of October through the twentieth."

Danny's personnel file comes rushing back to Steve in full Technicolor, but he doesn't remember seeing anything about an injury that severe. Wounded in the line of duty, yes, but _nothing_ about extended medical leave or comas. Danny seems to read his mind. "It happened too long ago for HPD to want the details," he explains with a shrug. "It's there if you dig, though."

And Steve never had. He's _never_ dug into Danny's past. He's simply taken everything at face value. Always. The revelation stuns him.

"You were in a coma."

Danny nods. "Yeah."

So maybe – just maybe – all of this actually makes sense somehow.

"You okay?" Danny asks again.

Steve feels a surge of emotion run through him, but he'll never _ever_ tell Danny about this. He'll never be able to explain it without sounding like a complete nutcase, and especially to Danny, who thinks he's insane already.

But this, right here? This, this…_thing_…he and Danny share? It started longer ago than two years inside the McGarrett garage. Somehow, eight full years before, Danny was there for Steve, working through or in or with that shaman. Maybe the shaman had been aware the whole time, had let Danny into him, allowed him to work through him, because he'd known. Regardless of how it happened, though, Steve's now fully aware that it did. That the shaman _contained_ Daniel Williams, as strange as it sounds.

Steve's as certain of that fact, however, as he is of his own name.

Vibration. Relativity. Cause and Effect.

Polarity. Rhythm. Gestation.

_Transmutation_.

"I'm good, Danny," Steve says, rising steadily to his feet, a warm feeling flooding through him as things seem to come to order in his mind, seem to sort themselves out, seem to settle into a place that means for the first time in his life, Steve's actually _comfortable_ with what's in there. "I'm good now."

Steve's not one to believe in mumbo-jumbo and yet here's Danny standing before him. Danny with the shaman's eyes, the shaman's crinkling skin at the corners of those eyes, the shaman's lips and smile. Running his hand through his hair, calling Steve 'my friend' so many times over the course of their partnership…

Coincidences?

Steve's not sure he's _ever_ believed in those.

The small things Danny and his daughter have been leaving at Steve's home are nothing more than physical, tangible reminders of seven things Danny left him with eight years ago, when the real Danny was in a coma, and by some strange force of the Universe, was sent to invade a shaman's body to save Steve's life. Little notes left maybe on purpose, maybe because the Universe wants it that way, to lead Steve back to this simple truth that he and Danny met before they actually _met_.

He wonders if Danny has any clue. If Danny's spent the last two years wondering why and how Steve looks so familiar, feels so comfortable. If maybe Danny _does_ feel it or know it, but only subconsciously. Or if he thinks it was all a coma-induced dream, fantasy, fairy tale.

Or maybe Danny doesn't have a clue at all, any more than Steve did before today. No conscious or subconscious recognition. Steve wonders if one day something will trigger it for Danny, as the items around Steve's house triggered it for him.

Danny tilts his head sideways a bit, and seems to study Steve, keen eyes acting like they're trying to read straight through his skull into his mind. Maybe even into his soul. "One of these days," he says quietly, "I'm going to make you tell me what that was all about."

"Fair enough," Steve replies with a smile, clapping Danny on the back. "Now, how about some steaks on the grill?"

Maybe he _will_ tell Danny one day. Maybe he won't. But it doesn't really matter either way, because Steve? _Steve_ knows. Steve _believes._

And that makes _all_ the difference to him.


	51. Way 100

_Warning: This final Way references multiple major (and a minor) character deaths (that occur out-of-story). Have a box of tissues handy._

**Way 100**

Thank him for just being himself.

_You were born together, and together you shall be forever more.  
><em>_You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.  
><em>_Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God._

Every time a McGarrett/Williams birthday party rolled around, the entirety of Five-0 knew they'd have at least four days off no matter how many criminals were committing crimes in and around their islands.

The rarity that was the head of the task force and his partner, born on complete opposite ends of the United States, having birthdays _literally_ seven hours apart – technically on two different days thanks to time zones – was something none of them could admit to being anything more than coincidence, but couldn't be anything less than preor_dained_ coincidence.

There would be two rowdy days of 'playing' in the ocean, on the beach. On ATVs, out at the state's parks, maybe fishing, maybe boating. Whatever the team felt like doing for Danny's birthday and then Steve's, was always _always_ followed by way too many beers, various shots of some truly strange liquors and hangovers that took at _least_ a full day to get over for all involved.

And in spite of the ups and downs of ten years of partnership, it didn't look to be ending any time soon. So with each birthday set that passed, the partying grew more merry, the playing grew more adventurous and the laughter grew louder. This may have been a Hawaiian _ohana_, but it went way, _way_ deeper than that for all of them.

They would die for each other, and they somehow knew that at least Steve and Danny would go together. It was never spoken of. It was never even hinted at. But it was known by all four, as though they shared a consciousness that, even after all of them were long gone from the planet, would live on, whispering their names and their secrets, their loves and their tragedies, their woes and their successes.

Long would live the names of the four original members of Hawaii Five-0. Though they had started their lives separately, apart…they had come together because it was meant to be that way.

And the partners? The silly, sometimes comically mismatched duo that led everything with guns blazing, mouths shooting off at each other, and silent communication that bordered on telepathy? Echoed whispers about the lives they had lived would be loudest of all on the Hawaiian winds for generations to come.

It just was.

_They_ just _were._

_But let there be spaces in your togetherness,  
><em>_And let the winds of the heavens dance between you._

It was never meant to be anything more than it was. Closer than friends. Closer than brothers. Yet still two complete people in their own rights. Never more, never less. Gravitating toward each other at every turn, yet still maintaining their separateness. Taking the space when they needed it, staying close when the opposite was so.

Only becoming closer the more they danced apart. Only needing to sway back when they danced too close. Something few understood and even fewer noticed. The cousins knew. They'd always known. They felt it to their very marrow for the partners, for each other, for them all as a unit.

There really was very little to be done when, after a grueling week-long case, the only craving you had was to remind yourselves that you were all still okay, that you'd lived through it to see another day. That instead of running to opposite ends of the island, they wound up huddled together on Steve's beach, or at a small table in the local watering hole. Maybe hunched around the coffee table in Chin's living room or sitting on top of Kono's bed cross-legged just breathing each other in.

Other times they were off on their own, but in their minds, always knowing where the others were. Steve may be in the garage still fine-tuning an old car that never quite wanted to work right, but he knows where Danny is.

Danny may be exploring campuses with his daughter as she narrows down her choices for college, but he knows where Chin is.

Chin may be on a romantic weekend getaway with Malia, thus ensuring their marriage stays strong and intact, but he knows where Kono is.

Kono may be riding every wave she can catch on whichever beach has the best ones that day, Ben Bass by her side, but she knows where Steve is.

And when Danny calls Steve to tell him about the latest campus he's seen, or Steve phones Danny only hours after waking to complain about the latest part he's bought for the Marquis, nobody's surprised.

Because only the winds of the heavens separate them all anyway.

_Love one another, but make not a bond of love:  
><em>_Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls._

They aren't bound together by anything more than their daily lives; by a task force and a mission. By a sense of duty, honor, obligation to the state, to its people. To each other.

They never speak the words, but it's never necessary. When Grace tells her Danno she loves him, and he says it in return, it speaks for all of them.

The first time Grace whispers, "I love you, Uncle Steve," into his ear is when he saves Danny's life in the midst of a fierce knife-and-fistfight that was three on one, and not in Danny's favor. It makes Steve's throat hurt, makes him try to remember how to say those words so he can murmur them in Grace's ear, because he knows she needs to hear it. And when he does, it's directed beyond the child in his arms, and he thinks even the unconscious man in the hospital bed is aware.

When Kono nearly perishes while chasing a perp, teetering precariously on the edge of a volcano where Chin barely makes it in time to keep her from plummeting into its deep cone where she would have been instantly incinerated. When he grabs her, yanks her away from the precipice, pulls her tightly to himself and doesn't let go…when he whispers the words into her ear as she clings to him fighting the terrified sobs her body wants to let loose, Steve hears. Danny hears. And Chin's words are spoken for them all.

When Malia is killed by Wo Fat in retribution for Chin Ho taking out three of Wo Fat's top assassins singlehandedly, and Chin spends weeks grieving and full of guilt, it's not even words that get him…get them _all_…through the nightmare. It's finding Chin kneeling at the fresh mound of dirt where Malia permanently rests. It's Kono kneeling before him, resting her forehead on his, tears streaming down both their faces as her arms encompass him.

It's Danny kneeling to one side, wrapping one arm around Chin and one around Kono and bowing his head to meet theirs. It's Steve remembering his mother's grave, his father's grave. Remembering the graves of all the Navy brothers he's had to bury over the years, as he kneels on the other side of their four-point compass, wrapping his arms around them all and pulling them as close as he can.

It's four pairs of eyes, not a single one of them dry, crying with Chin and _for_ Chin. For the innocent love that was his for a time, that's now gone because of what they all do for a living. It's telling each other that they may not be bound by vows of marriage, or civil unions; they may not be bound by legalities or blood ties beyond the two distant cousins…but they are bound together by something maybe only their souls understand.

_Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup.  
>Give one another of your bread, but eat not from the same loaf.<br>__Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone,  
><em>_Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music._

They share everything together. Kono's triumphs on the waves for charity events. The haul of fish that Steve and Chin catch that keeps the team at Steve's for barbecues for a week. Small things. The beauty of the solo that Grace sings at her school's Christmas pageant, that brings Danny to unabashed tears and makes them all beam with pride as though she belongs to them all.

The day they bring an end to Wo Fat once and for all.

They are always there for each other, but there are still invisible lines that are never crossed. They will give the shirts off their backs, the money out of their pockets, their homes and beds and couches. They will share their food and drink, they will lend an ear and a hand. They will drift apart and ease closer together, imitating the pull of the tide that ebbs and flows.

Like the water they're surrounded by, they are individual molecules but they form something that can be as beautiful as it can destructive. And so they know not to take it too far, even as they know they can never be apart for too long.

They understand it, and they don't. Steve looks at Danny sometimes like he wishes he could never let him go. He sees Chin looking at Kono the same way. Danny at him. Kono at them all, sometimes Chin more than others. How they can be so close, so very close, how they can be so in synch, so in tune, and yet manage to maintain their individuality is a mystery they will never solve. It is what it is.

_They_ are what _they_ are.

_Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.  
><em>_For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts._

They've given it so much of themselves over the years. These many years that have passed now. Chin was the first to retire, and Steve didn't want to so Danny stayed until he couldn't anymore. Kono's in charge these days, and Steve bothers her at HQ more often than not, but they've each had their lives and loves, their losses and joys.

When they were together as a team, they gave it everything they had. Everything they were.

Chin never finds another after Malia is killed. Danny and Gabby drift apart. Catherine falls in love with another sailor and marries him. Kono dedicates her life to her work after Ben leaves the islands for a job in Alaska, only occasionally seeking another when she needs to be held and loved.

They had tried to give their hearts, each of them, some more than once. But in the end it had always come back to the Four and so now, as Kono sits and looks out over the newer team that's nothing like the one she was recruited into, she has to smile when she sees three men come strolling through the door like they own the place.

White-haired in Chin's and Steve's cases; sort of a mousy gray-blond in Danny's. More lines and wrinkles, but all three still fit for their years. It is Kono's time to retire. Today is her last day with Five-0. She welcomes just being able to be with her men again. The only three men, she thinks, she's ever trusted enough with her heart not to break it.

They hug together in the middle of the bullpen as their final good-bye to it and everything it will always represent, ignoring the strange looks from the younger generation. Nothing matters but this: that Life has kept them, and their hearts, cradled together even after Time forced their team asunder.

_And stand together yet not too near together:  
><em>_For the pillars of the temple stand apart,  
><em>_And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow._

She looks at the special place that was set apart specifically for these four people. She wipes a tear that escapes her eye, clutching the arm of the man who stands solidly next to her in his full dress blues. Influenced even now by the uncle, the former SEAL, who was always more than an uncle; by the wise shaman-like uncle who was as gentle as he was loving; by the beautiful, lively, brave aunt who'd shown her what a woman could truly do with herself if she tried very hard. By the man whose heart she'd owned even before she was born: her Danno.

Grace looks down at her own dress blues and smiles. Danno had been so pissed when she'd decided to go to Annapolis instead of some "nice, normal" college, and thrown his hands up in the air when she'd declared five years into her service that she was marrying a SEAL, of all things. And yet the twinkle in his eyes when he'd walked her down the aisle, and the tears of pride and joy when she'd become the very first active duty female SEAL in the Navy, had been at odds with his prickly words.

The pride on Steve's face had been almost more than she could bear, as the child she was for him that they both knew he would never have of his own.

She makes sure to come back here once a year, on the same date – the anniversary of the date the four former Five-0 members met their fate together.

There is a man she and her husband now chase around the world as a two-person SEAL team, the man who brought disaster on the aged friends. Wo Fat's son, who had gotten revenge for his father's murder by blowing up the yacht her _ohana_ had been celebrating Chin's one hundredth birthday on.

It had only been the four of them, together, and they had died as they had lived. As much as it had hurt, and as many tears as she'd cried, Grace knew they would never have wanted it to happen any other way. Quickly. Painlessly. As one.

The grave markers stand in contrast to the rich, lush, green grass, arranged in a square with each marker a corner. Like pillars, continuing to hold up all that they were, all that they had accomplished, all that they had meant to each other. For eternity they would stand together like this, never quite touching, but never _ever_ apart.

And Grace and her husband wiill spend the rest of their days seeking justice for those who had made such a difference in Hawaii that to this day, their stories are the stuff of legends.

Lieutenant Commander Grace Williams – too proud of the name to give it up for her husband's – snaps to attention, a smart straight-fingered salute in honor of the fallen even as a tear trickles out of one big, brown eye. Her man, the only man she's ever trusted with her heart besides her Danno and the members of her _ohana_, snaps-to in mirror of his wife. They stand at attention for thirty seconds, then smartly return their arms to their sides.

Next year on this date they will be back. And one day, these deaths will be avenged. She and her husband will see to that, with the full blessing and support of the United States Navy.

As they walk away, the sunlight casts itself through the branches of the trees overhead. Shadows play along and among the four white/gray stones that mark the final resting places of Hawaii's heroes. And in the interlocking, intertwining shadows of the trees, their stones…as their souls perhaps had always been…are linked together.

She stops and turns to look back at this place so sacred to her, where American flags fly proudly and bright tropical flowers provide a natural protective border. "Thank you for being who you were," she says, looking at her father's name etched into the stone as her husband lays his hands on her shoulders. "And for making me who I am."

And Grace thinks in the warm and salt-soaked Hawaiian wind, she can hear their voices echo words of love, of encouragement. Of pride in the woman she's become. She knows it as surely as she knows her place in this world. Knows she'd been molded into who she is by all of them and still clings to their love, to the example they set, even so many years later.

Her tears turn into a smile as she imagines her father chasing his partner through eternity lecturing him on how grenades don't work in Heaven, how Heaven has _rules_ and _procedures_ and "Oh, my God, you're going to get us sent to Hell!" How Chin has undoubtedly hacked his way into God's secret files and Kono is surfing clouds like they're waves. How her Danno probably tells her Uncle Steve, "You see? This Heaven, here? _This_ is exactly what New Jersey was like!" How Steve scowls and rolls his eyes and stares at Danno like he can strangle him with a look.

Grace laughs out loud even as their voices seem to fade away. Off on another adventure together, maybe. As they were in life, so, too, they are in death.

"Always together," she whispers as her husband squeezes her hand and places a kiss on her forehead. "Even now."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Well, that was the final of these 100 Ways, everyone! Wow. Fifty chapters, 100 short stories. I remember when I posted the first two Ways, thinking to myself, there is NO WAY I'm going to get through 100 of these! Well, I did. WE did. Together. All of those of you who've returned day after day, faithfully, to see what I'd put up next. How I'd handle sticking to heavy bromance because I won't go explicitly into slash territory…especially with Ways as 'leading' as some of these were! (How a reader wishes or chooses to interpret my writing is <em>their_ decision, however! *grin*)_

_Well, we accomplished a lot together with this, dear readers. We proved that a) it can be done, and b) you _do_ like it! So thank you for that from the bottom of my heart._

_The poem that I used in Way 100 is below in its entirety, if you'd like to actually see it all put together. It's a poem from a section of the author Khalil Gibran's larger work entitled "The Prophet." I felt that it very accurately conveyed how I see Steve and Danny and their bromance, friendship and partnership…as well as _all _of the _ohana. _I hope you enjoyed this final Way._

_Only time will tell if we'll do this together again…_

* * *

><p>"<strong>Love One Another"<br>By Khalil Gibran**

_You were born together, and together you shall be forever more.  
><em>_You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.  
><em>_Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.  
><em>_But let there be spaces in your togetherness,  
><em>_And let the winds of the heavens dance between you._

_Love one another, but make not a bond of love:  
><em>_Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.  
><em>_Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup.  
><em>_Give one another of your bread, but eat not from the same loaf.  
><em>_Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone,  
><em>_Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music._

_Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.  
><em>_For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.  
><em>_And stand together yet not too near together:  
><em>_For the pillars of the temple stand apart,  
><em>_And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow._


End file.
